


Architecture

by debwalsh



Series: You Were Made for Me [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist!Steve, Asexual Character, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Demisexual James "Bucky" Barnes, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Food Kink, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mention of losing a limb, Mistakes, Mutual Pining, Parent suffering from cancer, Photography, Pretend, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Thor - Freeform, actor!bucky, mention of fatal illness, past abusive relationship, photographer!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 09:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7166042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is looking to set Bucky - decorated war vet, celebrated actor - up. He likes men, he finds women aesthetically pleasing, but he’s not the kind of guy to hook up. He’s tried that, realized that he needs to get to know the person before he has any attraction.</p><p>Bucky’s pal Clint Barton proposes a cool magazine layout with Bucky and another man, photographed as geometric shapes, like construction materials, like architecture, rather than sex objects. The spread looks really great, and his manager and pal Tony Stark asks Bucky if he and the beautiful man in the photos are a thing. Which gives Bucky an idea...the press tour for his new film is coming up, and he could use a companion ... and then Steve surprises him with a counterproposal of his own.</p><p>14Sep16 - Alternate timeline notes added for grins.<br/>13Sep16- The final chapter, A Home is Made with Love and Dreams, is up!</p><p>Lovely art by <a href="http://substeverogers.tumblr.com">substeverogers</a> on Tumblr. So blessed - started out with no artist, ended up with three!</p><p>Art by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/aireagoir/pseuds/aireagoir">Aireagoir</a>:<br/><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Line

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing the 2016 Stucky Big Bang, and I'm super excited! I am a huge fan of fake boyfriend/fake relationship stories, and this is my first foray into writing one.
> 
> It's nearly 4 in the morning, so without further ado, here is the first chapter of Architecture.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome!

“Yo, Barnes! Lookin’ good, m’man!” Clint Barton greeted with a grin around a bagel with shmeer shoved in his mouth.

“God, you’re such a child, Clint. Remind me why I’m doing this again?” Bucky Barnes asked, shrugging out of his vintage bomber jacket and folding the butter-soft leather to place it reverently in a pile on a clear spot on Barton’s desk. It had been his grandfather’s, the first James Buchanan Barnes of the fighting 107th, passed directly from his granddad to him when he was a teenager. It had been his favorite article of clothing since he turned 15 and finally had the shoulders to wear it. His Dad had had his own, earned when he flew over Vietnam in the late 1960s. Grandpa James always used to grumble about Dad’s choice of service arm, but he couldn’t deny Dad’s love of all things aircraft. He’d’ve hated being grounded, stuck in the mud. Whatever the branch, the Barnes men – and many of the women – served.

“Somethin’ about ‘carvin’ a new image’, I think? I dunno. I need a model, you need an image lift, and we got a nibble on the photo spread. I got so many ideas, man. Now fuckin’ get ready,” Barton commanded and took a big bite out of his bagel.

Bucky chuckled, and turned away to pull his t-shirt up over his head, folding it neatly on top of his jacket. Next came the strap holding his prosthetic limb in place, an advanced design that provided him mobility and balance thanks to sensors surgically implanted in the stump of his left arm, communicating with nanochips embedded in the motor center of his brain. It gave him the semblance of wholeness, but that wasn’t what he and Clint had decided on for this shoot. They wanted to show off Bucky’s disability, showcase it in all its ugliness, in all its courageousness, in all its challenges, and in all its victories.

Because Bucky’s left arm had been lost to a roadside IED outside Kabul, a sack of nothing that just looked like trash tossed aside, and it had taken out half the Humvee he was riding in, his lieutenant, and most of his left arm. He was lucky it hadn’t torn through his chest and taken his heart, too. Connors in his squad hadn’t been so lucky.

He placed the prosthetic carefully on top of the pile of clothes, and checked it to make sure it had powered down properly. If he didn’t take care of it, the battery would drain completely, and the dead weight on his left side would hurt like a sonovabitch. Satisfied that it was completely off, he turned his attention to taking off his jeans, a worn, comfortable pair that were his go-to pants when he wanted to relax and move easily. Skinny jeans made his ass look good, and his legs, too, but he only wore them when he was “on,” usually on press junkets, late night talk show appearances, and activities where he – or rather his publicist – wanted him to be seen. Skinny jeans could be uncomfortably tight, and he honestly wasn’t interested in attracting attention of a sexual nature. Plus, actual circulation. Bonus. But yeah, not looking for a sexual encounter.

And that was why he was here, stripping down in Clint’s studio, about to do a photo shoot in the buff. Wasn’t that a kick in the head? Stark naked to desexualize himself for the masses. 

Two years ago, Afghanistan combat vet turned A-list actor James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes had accidentally outed himself as gay during the press tour of his last film, _Let Me Go_. It was a rom com with a sexy, much in demand female co-star, and the press had been eating up their photogenic facades and mashable names (“BuLinda” and “Lucky” were the top yet cringeworthy faves) when one of the reporters had caught him watching one of the more attractive men on the red carpet. Asked point blank if he was interested, he’d blurted yes, and the rest was history. The film did well – women seemed to love the idea of a sad gay boy they could either mother, or hope to turn if they’re just the right woman enough for him – and the gay community embraced him like a long-lost son. Linda had been relieved that the press stopped trying to matchmake them, since she was in a committed relationship with her high school sweetheart, and the studio had been making uncomfortable noises about not letting her follow through on marriage plans. But once the “secret” was out, he suddenly found himself the object of every gay matchmaker in town, the designated prey for a number of cougars on the prowl hoping to turn him, and the subject of a number of lustful propositions from men young and old that he’d really rather forget.

Truth was, Bucky found everyone attractive in concept. Women, he found aesthetically pleasing, but not necessarily sexually attractive. Men, he also found aesthetically pleasing, and again, not necessarily sexually attractive. Bucky liked kissing men more than he liked kissing women, but he didn’t mind if his partner was female. He just didn’t get excited just because of the parts the other person had, and his hands rarely wandered below the waist. It took him time and effort to get to know someone, and only then could he feel attraction. He tended to be attracted to the person more than the body they inhabited.

So getting to the point of actual attraction was a somewhat laborious process in a town dedicated to instant gratification. All the efforts to pair him off, all the offers of a quick fuck, none of them were satisfying, and almost all of them were a little upsetting, if he was really honest with himself.

And that’s how he found himself here, shoving his black boxers down and kicking them off, then turning to look at Clint with his dick hanging out, limp and disinterested, while his old buddy was setting up lights and backgrounds for the shoot.

They’d concocted the idea over beers a few weeks ago. Clint and Buck went back to childhood, to their days in alphabetical order in Ms. Halliwell’s homeroom. Barnes and Barton. A match made in hell if you asked any teacher in their middle school, and their high school, too. But friendships forged in the petri dish of hormonal rages and erupting skin passed the test of time, and here they were, twenty years later, still buds, still helping each other get in and out of trouble.

“Ah, there’s my favorite dick,” Clint announced, looking up from where he was tinkering with lighting. “My favorite suck toy.”

Bucky just shook his head fondly and tugged ostentatiously on the cock in question, flipping Clint the bird as he shoved his socks down with the opposing toes. Back in college, when Clint had been bi-curious, they’d had a short and instructive fling. Mostly it involved Clint going down on Bucky to see if he liked the taste of dick in his mouth, and he ultimately concluded it wasn’t for him. For Bucky, it was trying to be sexually attracted, or at least turned on by the mechanics of sex. 

For Clint, the experience had had the benefit of focusing him so he had a better idea of what he wanted. No mean feat at any time, but in the crucible of college, it was kind of miraculous. He’d announced he was officially straight, and launched into a long-term relationship with another middle school friend, Natasha Romanoff. They were still together. She’d always been the ringleader and the impetus for any trouble they’d gotten into, and usually the brains for getting them out. But she had an unreasoning fondness for the idiot that was Clint Barton, and Bucky envied the absolute devotion they each shared with the other. If there had ever been a truer example of soulmates, he’d never seen one, not in any rom com, docudrama, or real life relationship. 

Relationship goals, for sure. And sometimes, Bucky looked at them and ached, wondering if he’d ever find anything like that, a deep friendship and an abiding love.

As for Bucky, he’d confirmed that the flesh could be willing, and he could get it up with some effort, and have a decent orgasm, but he was never satisfied with that. Not that he had some kind of insatiable libido, more like he really didn’t have one. But he did, it just took a lot to find it and get it cranking.

So, ultimately, their experiment yielded useful intel, and Barton had been treating Bucky’s cock like it belonged to him ever since, mostly since no one else ever laid claim on it. Sometimes he even talked to it, and Bucky wasn’t sure to be embarrassed or just laugh his ass off. Knowing Clint, he was intended to do the latter. Clint was one of those “anything for a chuckle” kind of dudes. He was also an “anything for a friend” kind of dudes, and Bucky knew he could trust him with anything and everything.

“Yeah, you know what they say. Once you go Barnes, you can’t go back,” Bucky quipped, walking easily across the room to join Clint at the light tripod.

“Yeah, speakin’ of …” Clint opened hesitantly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve decided you’re gay after all, Clint. It’s gonna come as a major surprise to Nat – not to mention your dick.”

“No, no, I’m definitely all about Nat’s pussy, don’t get me wrong. But I was wondering, you know, if you’d be interested in, well … I’m curious. About what it feels like.”

“To?”

“Have a dick shoved up my ass.”

“Clint, your approach to sexual experimentation always comes down to having something shoved somewhere. Don’t you wanna try putting something of your own somewhere else?”

“Well, I already know how _that_ feels. More or less. I wanna know how gettin’ fucked up the ass feels. Y’know, Nat wants me to try it. On her. And I’d kinda like to know what it feels like first. So I don’t hurt her, y’know?”

Bucky had to smile at that. Not that he was remotely interested in being a sex surrogate to his two best friends, but he could appreciate the consideration in Clint trying to understand how it would feel for Nat to be screwed that way, how to protect her. “I’m not fucking you. I don’t care if we’ve been friends since before Clearasil. I do not want my dick stuck up your ass.”

“Some gay boy you are. Thought all you fags were all about the dick.”

“First, not strictly gay. Demi poly pan gray something or other. And you know someone’s gonna deck you some day for saying ‘fag.’ Only fags get to use it with impunity.”

“I’ve had your dick in my mouth – doesn’t that mean I’m in the club?”

“It means you’ve had my dick in your mouth. Something I’d actually like to forget at this point. But if you really wanna know what it feels like to have it up the ass, why don’t you ask Nat to peg you?”

The darkness that suddenly eclipsed Clint’s eyes told Bucky everything he needed to know. “Pretty sure Nat would be down with that, too,” he added, and Clint nodded enthusiastically.

“Hold that thought. Gotta text Nat.” He gestured toward the coffee pot and the tray of pastries and mouthed, “Help yourself,” as he ducked back into a corner to text his girlfriend of more than half his life, it seemed.

So Bucky helped himself to a plate of goodies and a cup of good strong coffee, and looked around for a place to sit with his junk out. Vinyl and pleather were right out – he did not need to stick to the surface and have any of his remaining pubes pulled out when he tried to stand up. He liked to keep smooth down there – it felt good, and he liked the way it looked, he’d never been big on body hair – but he couldn’t catch ‘em all, so inevitably something tugged and pulled and just pissed him the hell off. So, Clint’s desk chair it was.

The chair had the added bonus of being an old fashioned swivel rocker desk chair, all worn-looking wood, railed back with a threadbare corduroy backrest, and a nice cushy fabric-covered seat to rest his naked ass in, cradle his junk. He grinned predatorily as he pivoted in the chair and lifted his legs up onto Clint’s desk, crossing his ankles as he did so, teasing Clint with a front row seat to his cock and balls resting right in the middle of Clint’s favorite spot.

“Aw, man, really?” Clint whined a few minutes later, looking flushed and bright-eyed after his call with Nat. Like Bucky’d said, he figured Nat would be down with the pegging, and it looked like Clint was excited too. He just hoped Clint didn’t feel the need to give him a blow by blow tomorrow. “ _My_ chair?”

“Don’t know what you mean, old man,” Bucky said, grinning around a blueberry danish. “Only place to sit in this place. Should get yourself some decent seating if you’re gonna go the arthouse route and have naked models hanging around.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll think about it. If this thing sells as well as I think it will.”

That sobered Bucky up quick. “Who’s sniffin’?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not considering anywhere sleazy. None of the gossip rags, not even the high-end fashion mags. There’s a new art and lifestyle title launching, I like what I see of it. They’re willing to pay well, and I get input to the layout. Owned by a friend of Nat’s actually.”

“Oh. Good circulation?”

“Global. It’s gonna be a big launch. Premiere issue.”

“They expecting anything? I mean, for me to make an appearance?”

“Maybe. To be negotiated,” Clint shrugged.

“Timing?”

“When’s your next flick due out?”

“Three months.”

“’bout then. Could work out.”

“Huh.”

“Could be a good thing, man. We do the spread, they do a little interview, then closer to the launch, you get a chance to say a little more, in your own words. Blogosphere eats it up. Social media shares the pix.”

“Tumblr reblogs in search of my dick,” Bucky added with a little bitterness.

“You’re a beautiful man, Barnes. Yeah, it sucks to be sexualized by the masses. Maybe acting wasn’t your best choice of professions in the day of the instant reblog.”

“I like acting. I’m good at it. I wanna do more. I wanna be taken seriously, not just viewed as a sex object.”

“I wonder how Marilyn Monroe woulda handled Tumblr and Instagram.”

“Yeah. I ain’t goin’ out like her, that’s for damned sure.”

“Not sayin’ you would. But all people saw of her was sex. Yet some of her photoshoots, even the nude ones, there is magic. Not sex, magic. And you watch her movies – she had talent up the whatever. Comedic genius.”

“Nat know you got the hots for Marilyn?”

“You ever see her cosplay?”

“I don’t need to know about your bedroom antics.”

“I’m talkin’ for cons – she does a helluva Seven Year Itch, man. Even rigged this little fan in around her ankle that simulates the grate picture, blows her dress up just like Marilyn’s.” He sighed happily. “Hit the jackpot with that one, I’ll tell you.”

“So when’re you puttin’ a ring on it, huh? You guys’ve been together forever. What’s stopping you?”

Clint’s shrug was more thoughtful this time. “Lookin’ for the right time, the right place. The right circumstance. Wanna make it special, y’know? I’ll know it when the time is right. I got the ring, y’know. Picked it out and paid for it already. Always have it with me. There’s gotta be magic in the air, y’know? When it happens, we’ll make our own kinda magic.”

“And that’s what we’re makin’ today, huh?” Bucky chuckled, but he was really touched at the raw romanticism of Clint’s declaration. Even if he felt that Nat would prefer he just come out and propose already, she’d have to appreciate the way he treated the proposal like it was something precious. Again, Bucky felt his heart ache a little bit more. He didn’t think he’d ever find someone who’d treat him that way, like something to be treasured, worshipped. Sure, lots of people wanted to fuck him. Very few had any interest in hanging around to discuss the last book he’d read, or what kind of music was on his iPod.

Clint seemed to recognize the melancholy that inched up on Bucky right then. He smacked Bucky’s feet off the desk, sending the chair spinning as he said, “Yeah, get your fuckin’ ass outta my chair and let’s get started.”

&&&

They spent several hours setting up shots, Clint fiddling with lighting, trying to minimize attention on Bucky’s face, on the obvious parts of his anatomy, casting much of him in shadow but emphasizing the line of his shoulders, the elegant way his arm outstretched into fine-boned fingers, while the other terminated sharply, poised in space, holding the pole in place tenuously with pressure from the side of the stump. They tried a variety of poses from there, various props, different light levels, gels to cast colored shadows, patterns across Bucky’s skin.

All in all, it was an exhausting day trying to keep things from falling out of his grasp, trying to maintain his own balance, trying to stay hydrated under the lights. Frequent breaks for snacks to keep his blood sugar steady. But he was getting close to being tapped out for the day.

Finally, they took a break and looked through the digital evidence of their afternoon together. By now, Buck was feeling a little on the chilly side, and had pulled on his t-shirt and boxers, and was considering adding the jeans. His feet were still bare though; he wasn’t so much a fan of shoes if he could avoid them.

“I like this one,” Clint was saying, pointing to an image of Bucky from the back head bowed, and the pole held behind his back with his arms stretched along its length. It had been tough to hold it in place on the one side with his stump, but Clint had helped him position it, and once in place, he’d just held the pressure to keep it stable. On the other end his right arm was fluid, and seemed to flow in and around the pole until his hand, where the fingers naturally curved toward a point beyond the scope of the photograph. Clint had tried various settings to the lights, but was now pointing at the version that was deep in shadow, a diffused light highlighting the curves of Bucky’s muscles, while the rest of him was plunged into inky shadow.

“I do, too. It was tough enough to do.”

“I like how the stick looks like it’s just about to break free, like it’s barely held in balance.”

“It _was_ barely held in balance,” Bucky pointed out amiably, back to knoshing on more of Clint’s stash of treats.

“Yeah,” Clint breathed thoughtfully, turning his head this way and that as he considered the image on the screen. “Balance. Some of these, you’re struggling for balance.”

“And I thought that was something you wanted to show – the challenges of the arm. To be inspiring?”

“Yeah,yeah. We can still do that, we just need to … you need a partner. A counterbalance.”

“A partner. Where the hell are we gonna find someone –“

“I got a guy. We work together sometimes. He’s a great model, I pay ‘im under the table for his time, he helps me out with other projects. Actually, he’s an artist himself, and sometimes we end up sharing a model. He’s a great guy, takes direction really well. Lemme text ‘im and see when he’s available.” And Clint turned away, phone in hand, decision made.

“But what if I don’t want a partner? Is he gonna be naked, too?” Bucky said softly, plaintively. Naked partner could also escalate into flirting and making it all very weird and uncomfortable. He wasn’t emotionally ready to deal with this – this was supposed to be a safe zone, no sexual games, no –

“He’s available. He can be here in an hour. How ‘bout we order pizza in? Then I can make the introductions. You’ll like him – he’s kinda quiet unless you’re an asshole toward someone else – he’s all about respect – then he’s a pitbull with abs.”

The mental picture that conjured made Bucky snort out loud. “Okay. Let’s meet your pitbull. With abs.”

Clint grinned at Bucky, and pulled out his phone again, speed dialing the pizza place’s number with a swipe of his thumb. They heard from Clint at least once a day, sometimes twice if he forgot he’d ordered earlier.

A partner. Well, he’d have to wait and see if this partner was a help or a hindrance.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little different for me, so I'd love to hear what you think. Yes, in the next chapter we meet Steve. More importantly, Bucky meets Steve. And the adventure begins!


	2. From Point A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And introducing Steve. I like this version of Steve, and I am enjoying writing Sarah as a kind of saucy vixen of an older woman. She's carrying a heavy burden, but she's got a sense of humor, and she loves her son more than life itself. She wants the best for him. He wants the best for her. It's almost an O'Henry kind of situation, in a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found myself drawing on my own experiences as my Mom's caregiver, the things I wish I'd thought to do or say. I am one of those people who routinely sleeps through my alarm, but I could never sleep through my Mom quietly saying, "It's time to get up." I used to tease her that I was going to record her saying that and make it my alarm sound. I never did, and what I wouldn't give to hear her say it again. So excuse me if I get a little emotional at times about Sarah and the reality she's facing.
> 
> I also work in clinical research (I negotiate contracts and budgets for a living), and my specialty the past 5 years has been oncology. So I'm drawing a bit on my professional life here as well. It'll be interesting to see how it all comes together. 
> 
> There's a general plan, but already in the first 5,000 words, I've discovered a new direction the story is going to take. One of those moments when you realize you have an unexpected opportunity, and it would be crazy not to take advantage. :)

“Ma, I’m gonna go out for a while – y’gonna be okay?”

“Course I am, Steve. I don’t need 24/7 mothering! And you know Fred’s coming over later. We’re playing poker. Maybe strip,” his mother told him, her blue eyes sparkling as she waggled her eyebrows – blonde as his – at him. The force of her personality wasn’t dimmed, even as her skin grew more papery, more stretched taut over less flesh as her weight continued to drop. She was still beautiful to him, even with the cannula in her nose feeding her oxygen from the concentrator attached to the strap over her shoulder, even as her blonde hair faded to gray, thinning and exposing her scalp as the drugs designed to extend her life ate away at her. 

He went with her to every appointment, every examination and every chemo treatment, every radiation exposure. He held her hand during the infusions, wrapped up in sterile garb, encased in gloves, bunnysuit sealed at the wrists, ankles, and neck, surgical mask sealed over his face. Anything to grab one more minute with her, and be there as he rock as she faced down the cancer that ravaged her body. He stood outside the radiation suite behind the lead lined barrier, watching as she reached for a point of stillness under the heavy lead apron as the beam targeted the tumors multiplying in her lungs, reaching for her bones. It hadn’t metastasized yet. He knew it was only a matter of time. But time was the one thing he fought for, another day with her, another week. 

So even though he had to work – treatments didn’t come cheap, thanks to copays and percentages insurance didn’t cover – he begrudged every moment it took him away from her.

He didn’t make enough. He was grateful he had a steady job, one that gave him enough to keep a supplemental policy going alongside her Medicare. The coverage was solid, she was getting good care. But he knew there were other options, outside their financial reach, that maybe could do better. Maybe clinical trials if he could find them, new drugs that reduced toxicity because they targeted specific types of cells.

He asked her oncologist for recommendations, but the practice Mom saw didn’t do trials, didn’t have access to information about the latest and greatest. He wondered if he shouldn’t somehow switch her care to a place like Sloan Kettering, but the wear and tear on Mom to travel that far into Manhattan proper wasn’t worth it if there wasn’t a cure waiting at the end of the line.

“Getting together with Sam?” she was asking, only a slight wheeze betraying her exhaustion. She always tried to hide it from him. He could always tell.

“What? No. No, Clint has a job for me.”

“Modelling.”

“Yep,” he popped the P, hoping she wouldn’t ask anymore questions.

“Naked?” 

Yeah, he knew she would. He blushed slightly as he nodded. “For a high end photo shoot, he said. Workin’ with some actor.”

“He good-looking? Somebody famous? Someone I might’ve heard of?”

“Dunno, Mom. He didn’t give me any details. I’m gonna have to sign waivers or something when I get there. Clint just needs someone to balance out the poses.”

“Naked,” she repeated, pointedly.

“Yeah, naked. Don’t mean nothin’, Ma. I’m just a prop for the photo shoot. Window dressin’.”

“But if he’s naked and you’re naked, and you’re working together, you never know – honey, you won’t know until you put yourself out there. You might find somebody. I don’t …” She paused, taking as deep a breath as she was able, just shy of making herself cough. “I don’t want you to be alone.”

It was the closest they ever got to it. Talking about Ma dying. Steve wasn’t a fool, he knew that it was a terminal diagnosis. Non-small cell lung cancer. Stage 4. Survival was measured in weeks, not months.

Now was not the time to be thinking about romance. Yet Ma’s dearest wish was that he had someone special, someone he could lean on when the time came.

“Ma, I got friends. Sam. Clint. Pegs –“

“I’ll never understand why that didn’t work out. You two were perfect for each other. Not that I was expecting grandchildren, I – oh, I don’t know why I do that,” she admonished herself.

“’S’okay, Ma. Not like I’m champin’ at the bit to pass on all the problem genes I got to someone else.”

She smiled fondly at him, reached up and patted his cheek with her hand. “I know. I’m glad you’re still friends, but it would have been nice if it could have been more.” He grabbed her hand and held it close, cool against his cheek. Dry. Once upon a time, her hand would have been red hot, soft, and plump. When Steve was sickly, looking down the barrel of his own death sentence, and Ma was the source all warmth and light in his life.

She still was.

Only there wasn’t a miracle cure waiting for her like there had been for him. His cure had been lightning in a bottle, a one-time only thing. 

It had left him sterile, though, unable to father children. His sperm were completely lacking in sufficient genetic material to fertilize an egg, in the womb or in the lab. Dr. Erskine had tried, thinking maybe stem cells grown from his body might give him the clues he needed to continue the work. Dr. Erskine was still trying to find the peculiar combination that had allowed his treatment to work its magic so well for Steve. No one else had had remotely the same response, the same success. 

He still teased Steve that it was because Steve was just too cussed to give up and let himself die. And then his face would go soft and remind Steve to remain what he’d always been … a good man. He missed Abraham. They saw him so infrequently since they came back to Brooklyn.

Maybe they only got one miracle, and Ma had wasted it on him. He’d give up his health, hell, his life, for her to be healthy and well. Just as she’d do it for him. Just as she’d done.

They really were a couple of hopeless cases, sacrificing everything for each other, time and again. Kinda like those idiot brothers on _Supernatural_.

She was smiling expectantly up at him. “When do you have to be there?”

“Um, soon as possible, I guess. I can cancel –“

“Fred’s coming over. Strip poker. Crack open a couple bottles of wine. We’re gonna watch porn on cable and make fun of the actors. All that silicone – they’re in for the sag of their lives when they hit my age, baby.”

“Ma, you can’t have wine with your meds –“

“Non-alcoholic. I don’t know who came up with the idea, but it’ll do. Fred gets the good stuff. I get the taste with none of the kick.” She looked at him earnestly for a moment, letting the façade of good cheer drop away. “Go on, don’t keep Clint and the pretty actor man waiting. Get me an autograph, maybe, huh? For my scrapbook,” she added with a smile.

“Sure, Ma. You’ll be the envy of the block.”

“Honey, I already am. All the old ladies are jealous of me because I have the most beautiful, attentive, and kind son. Who’s running late. Who needs to meet somebody. Maybe this will be your lucky day, sweetie. Say hi to Clint for me. Now get out of here!” she shooed him out of the kitchen, and he went, laughing, feeling like this was his lucky day, to have her laughter in his ears as he left the apartment. He didn’t let himself think how much he’d miss that sound when it was gone. He wanted to believe that he’d hear her voice, hear her laughter, hear her singing, every day for the rest of his life. For now, he’d hold it close and try to memorize it, how it sounded, how it made him feel. Bank it for the silent future.

&&&

Steve worked with Clint quite a lot, not just as a model, but doing backgrounds, set dressing, and a variety of other creative elements for his photo shoots. Clint was always careful to ensure he got credited, so his name showed up in the credits of a lot of photo spreads in a lot of magazines. Every so often, he’d get a call from a magazine, asking him to come in and provide services to a new shoot with someone he didn’t know. It was a little daunting, but he kept trying to push himself outside his comfort zone. And amassing contacts in the industry, making himself available, it sure couldn’t hurt in the long-run.

Clint talked him up among his photographer friends, too, and Steve was starting to build something of a clientele. It was a nice supplement to his full time job as a staff artist at a children’s magazine in town. The magazine paid for his insurance and benefits, the side job helped back anything Ma’s Medicare and supplemental insurance didn’t cover. 

Right now, though, he was on FMLA to care for Ma. All her appointments kept him running most days, although this one was a quiet day, no appointments. Everyone at the magazine was understanding and supportive. His boss had shocked him by telling him he was going to continue to pull down a salary and his benefits would be covered while he was out, because they didn’t have to do that. All they had to do was keep his job intact for him, and after the regulation period, if he stayed out longer, they didn’t even have to do that.

So, yeah, when Ma talked about it being his lucky day, he realized that despite everything going on with her, the inches by which he lost a little more of her every day, he was an extraordinarily lucky guy in his friends, in his employer, in his career.

Clint’s studio wasn’t far out of Steve’s neighborhood, and he could walk it easily. Not so when he’d been a kid. Laid up with so many illnesses he couldn’t even climb the stairs in their apartment building, Steve had been kept home, and home schooled for most of his life. He’d yearned to go to school with other kids, play games and sports in the schoolyard, give presentations, and exchange valentines. But that wasn’t in the cards for little Stevie Rogers. His immune system was so compromised, the doctors would not give him permission to enter the general population of any school.

He’d had one glorious month of high school, when the doctors had declared him beyond hope, when he’d been looking at only a few more months of life before the genetic soup that was his fractured immune system would take him. He’d begged Ma to let him go. Let him be normal for once before he died. Let him be around people, and fall in love at a distance and see pretty girls and beautiful boys. Try out for chorus and maybe a part in a play, join the chess club, and maybe a scifi group if they had one (they did). He loved every minute of it, the excitement and the fear, even the fighting with asshole jocks who had no respect for anyone, least of all the girls they claimed to be dating. For one shining month, little Stevie Rogers was fully alive, flinging himself into studying new material, reveling in the press of people at change of class, enjoying the mundanity of detention for those fights he inevitably found himself in.

And then Dr. Erskine had called. Overnight, he and Ma were on a plane to Germany, where he spent the next several years of his life receiving treatments, then being observed for adverse reactions. He finished his education in Germany, went to university there. It had taken over five years, but Dr. Erskine had finally determined that all of Steve’s childhood ailments, every last thing that had nearly claimed his life, was gone from his system.

Ma had stayed with Dr. Erskine for a while longer, acting as his nurse, study coordinator, administrator, and any other role his clinic needed. Dr. Erskine was brilliant, but impractical most of the time. 

Finally, she could see how homesick he was for the city he’d only tasted for 30 days, and they’d come home, back to the neighborhood he barely knew. Back to the streets he’d watched wistfully from his window.

So Steve enjoyed walking. He loved running, and he did it every morning, lapping Sam again and again in the local park. He loved pushing himself and feeling his body respond. He loved exploring this city, this neighborhood, and sampling in person everything it had to offer.

He’d give it all up again to see his Ma recover fully.

Only he knew that wasn’t going to happen. So he did as she asked him. But he wasn’t gonna find anybody. He didn’t believe there was anyone out there for little Stevie Rogers. He had all the luck he could hope to have. Anything left had to go to Ma.

He climbed the stairs to Clint’s studio, and let himself in through the main door. Clint never locked it when he was here, and half the time he forgot to lock it on his way out. He’d been fortunate no one had ever helped themselves to his extensive array of photographic equipment, his darkroom set-up, or his digital editing suite. Not to mention his toy collection. That alone would fetch a substantial sum broken up and sold on eBay.

“Hey, Clint,” he greeted, and stopped cold as he took in the sight of Clint lounging lazily in his chair, a slice of pizza poised to drop down his gullet, and across from him in a t-shirt and black boxers was none other than James fucking Bucky Barnes.

If luck was still with him, he wouldn’t pop a boner at the sight of all that skin on display, the sinful way his lips wrapped around the point of the slice, pulling a thread of mozzarella out until it drooped toward his shirt, the surprised widening of his gray-blue eyes, and the way his t-shirt hugged his body – including the puckered flesh along the base of his stump.

If his luck held, he’d be cool, feigning disinterest and cool.

With James “Bucky” Barnes's gaze fixed directly on him like that, Steve’s luck ran out.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you so much for the kudos and comments on this so far! I'm really excited to share this story with everyone. My artist for the Big Bang fell through, so I am going to try to do some illustrations for it myself. I haven't drawn in a long time, but since I've also signed up to illustrate someone else's entry in the SBB, I figure there's no harm in warming up with my own story.
> 
> I hope you continue to enjoy, and I wouldn't mind if you continued to comment, too!


	3. To Point B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get through their intiial awkwardness, and the photo shoot moves forward. Bucky finds himself surprised, Steve finds himself in a potential crisis, and Clint just turns off his hearing aids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing is a challenging process when it's these characters. Because I go in with ideas for what I want to do, and they up-end them. I think I know where this is going. But the boys may have other ideas. We'll see when we get there!

Clint grinned at the bug on a windshield look on Steve Rogers’s face and the not-so-subtle way he shifted his messenger bag to mask the sudden tenting in his khakis as he stared open-mouthed at Bucky. Clint had to remind himself that his old pal was a famous actor, a sex symbol, and really seriously fucking good-looking. And Steve was as transparent at they come, really, open-hearted and open-faced, passionate in his beliefs, and as selfless as it was possible for someone to be and still actually live. Steve was a good-looking guy, someone that men and women alike found attractive. Hell, if Clint weren’t happily whatever with Nat, he’d’ve found Steve attractive. All that earnestness, wrapped up in those muscles, topped off with all that talent, packaged in a genuinely nice guy. Yet, Steve rarely dated. He knew that a lot his attention was focused on his Ma, who was battling lung cancer. But faced with someone that got his motor running? Steve was human after all, and his body wanted to make sure he remembered that.

Clint might’ve felt sorry for his pal and frequent collaborator if his attention wasn’t suddenly drawn to his old buddy, who was having a reaction of his own.

Buck’s mouth opened slightly, tongue caressing the inside of his lower lip, peeking ever so slightly over the swell of his lip. Eyes wide, and maybe a little dark? Clint shifted slightly in his chair and looked a little closer, noting a pinking of Bucky’s skin, a flush running from his cheeks down this throat, and disappearing under his t-shirt.

Well, wasn’t _that_ interesting.

Mr. I Don’t Feel Attraction Until I Get to Know You was having a moment. An actual fucking sexual reaction to someone he’d just met. 

In all the years Clint had known Bucky, he’d only seen that reaction once before, in high school, and Buck had never admitted to it. Maybe didn’t even realize what it was at the time, and maybe didn’t remember. But Clint did, because it was so out of character. Everyone wanted Bucky back then – no different from today – but while Bucky played the high school dating game because it was expected, there was no one he’d actually wanted to fool around with. But back in high school, there’d been _someone_ who’d caught his attention, just the once, although Clint never knew who. And as far as Clint knew, nothing ever came of that attraction, but it had been there.

It had been 15 years since that flare of interest. So long Clint had started to think maybe he’d imagined it after all.

Until it was there again.

The two of them were just staring at each other silently, Steve settling from sneakered foot to sneakered foot, Bucky leaning forward, breath a little faster as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Well, shit.

As amusing as all this was, he was going to have to break the spell, send Cinderella back to the fireplace, and the carriage back to the pumpkin patch.

“Steve, you made it, buddy! Thanks for comin’ on such short notice. How’s Sarah?”

And like that, the spell was well and truly broken. Steve blinked, his mouth working soundlessly as he shifted back on his back foot, and Bucky straightened, attention shifting back to his cool slice of pizza.

“Plannin’ to play strip poker with Fred. And make fun of porn on cable.”

Bucky nearly choked on his pizza, earning him a couple of wallops on his back from Clint as he tried to process what Steve said. “Who the fuck –“ he rasped out around coughs.

“My Mom. She was a hippie in the ‘60s,” Steve replied as if that explained everything.

“Sarah Rogers is a neighborhood legend,” Clint explained. “Survivor of Woodstock, Berkeley sit-ins, even the Chicago Democratic convention in ’68. Social activist, Mom to any who need her, baker of the best damned cookies you’ll ever eat – and no one’s ever proved she laces ‘em with hash or weed – bawdy as hell, and the _lady_ responsible for this fine upstanding young man. Steve Rogers, this is my old pal Bucky Barnes.”

“It’s weed,” Steve confirmed with a grin. “Medicinal pot. Helps with the nausea after chemo. Hey, I’m Steve Rogers,” he introduced himself.

Left hand still holding his messenger bag in a stranglehold over his crotch, Steve took a step forward and thrust out his right hand toward Bucky, who took it gravely, shaking it just a beat longer than strictly necessary. “Bucky Barnes.” Clint smiled inwardly, mentally doing a two-step. He and Nat had been trying to figure Buck’s type since middle school, with no success. Not that they were crazy matchmakers – they just wanted to see their friend happy.

As Bucky continued to hold Steve’s hand, the pad of his thumb tracing a pattern over Steve’s knuckle, Steve didn’t look like he minded at all. His eyes roved over Bucky, and it was clear he liked what he saw. And curiously, Bucky didn’t seem to mind the attention, something that usually annoyed him.

Instead, he was grinning, his hand still wrapped around Steve’s. “Hippie, huh? You must be –“

“A late life baby, yeah. Mom decided she wasn’t willing to share parenthood with just anyone, so she had me by _in vitro_ , when she was in her early 40s.”

“Gutsy,” Bucky commented, finally letting go of Steve’s hand, but Clint didn’t miss the fact that Buck glanced down at his hand, turning it over and back again before his eyes flashed back up to look at Steve’s face, his eyes alight. “So Clint tells me you’re gonna help us with this photo shoot.”

“That’s the story,” Steve agreed, and turned toward Clint expectantly. “But you didn’t say much other than I gotta get naked.”

And yeah, Clint could hear the anxiety in his voice. Clint was willing to bet that Steve had a picture or two of Buck up in his room, and maybe a fantasy or two about his old buddy stored in his spank bank. Bucky was, after all, an international film star, and a widely acknowledged sex symbol to boot. And that little problem of Steve’s hadn’t gone away yet, judging from the way the messenger bag was still clutched firmly against his nethers.

The way that Steve’s tongue flicked out and slid across his lower lip, his eyes darting toward Bucky, and his breath catching slightly told Clint that this was either going to be the best idea he’d ever had, or the fucking worst. He was kinda glad Nat wasn’t here to lay odds.

&&&

“You gonna be okay, man?” Clint asked as he walked Steve back to the men’s room where he could strip in private, and take care of any last minute _issues_. He handed him a robe so he wouldn’t scare the straights coming out of the head in the buff.

“You coulda warned me, Clint. It’s one thing to pose for wannabe Picassos. It’s another thing entirely to strip down next to _that_ ,” he complained.

“ _That_ would be my best friend from middle school. I’ve seen him with acne so bad, Arseface is pretty by comparison. I’ve seen him puking on his shoes after an all-night kegger, and landing ass over teakettle in my Mom’s prized roses when he tried to shimmy down the drainpipe my Dad forgot to fasten to the wall. I don’t see ‘im the way other people do, I guess.”

“You don’t see an incredibly sexy guy.”

“Been friends since before my first hard-on. We had a fling in college. Lasted long enough for me to figure out I’m not into dick. So I guess, no. I see that he’s attractive. But I also see that there’s more to him than that. And I need you to let all of that go, because you’re gonna be working real close to him. Think a’baseball or something. Box scores, maybe.”

“I can be professional, Clint. Like I said, some warning woulda been nice. So I could prepare. So what’s the plan?”

Clint went on to explain the theme of the photo shoot, and the more he talked about it, the more enthusiastic Steve became. Before they knew it, they were sitting on the upholstered benches outside the men’s room, Steve stark naked, Clint fully clothed, discussing the pros and cons of the post-9/11 New York skyline as a potential theme before abandoning it for something more organic. Finally, Steve shrugged into the robe to dart across the hallway, and Clint led Steve back to the studio, where they found Bucky with his feet up on Clint’s desk, polishing off the last of the pizza. “Oh, sorry, I shoulda saved you a piece,” he announced apologetically, swinging his feet down to the ground and looking sheepish.

“Had time to grab something before I came, so I’m good, thanks.” He turned to Clint, who held out a clipboard and a sheaf of papers. Confidentiality agreement, non-disclosures, permission to use. He signed them quickly like the pro he was, then looked up expectantly at Buck, who’d been watching the whole time with an odd intensity. “We ready to get started?” Steve asked, slipping the robe back off his shoulders so it slid down and pooled in his hand. He folded it neatly and laid it on Clint’s desk.

Clint grinned proudly at Steve and his limp dick, his calm demeanor and his steady hand. And he noted again with satisfaction the swish of Buck’s tongue across his lower lip, the widening of his eyes as he took in the sight of Steve Rogers, all long-limbed, smooth-skinned, defined and toned muscles but not muscle-bound, gentleness balanced with strength. If Bucky liked what he saw of Steve now, Clint couldn’t wait to see how he reacted to Steve in full pitbull mode. With abs. Or avenging angel, if that was your thing. 

Bucky grinned and accepted the challenge. His black boxers and t-shirt found their way on top of the robe.

“Let’s do this.”

&&&

Clint was really happy with what he was seeing through the viewfinder. It took a little while, but Steve and Bucky found a groove that really worked, and they just kept moving, needing minimal direction. Steve really was the perfect partner for Bucky, near enough in height there was no jarring differential, strong enough that he could lift and hold Bucky in interesting poses long enough that Clint could poke and prod til he got them just right, and then fuck around with lighting and angle until he was really happy. And not a single sign of inappropriate hard-ons, or even sweat.

Clint was shooting with the highest resolution possible, so he could parse out close-ups later – he wanted to focus on specific positions, specific joints, magnified so detail was startlingly clear. Lighting varied from stark, stygian darkness, to bleached out washes of light it was blinding. He switched to an old black and white Nikon SLR for a while, then went back to his trusty Leica. He swapped out lenses, fiddled with colored gels, and just kept moving even as Steve and Bucky did. 

The playlist was a combination of old standards about New York, some metal, and a few modern classics by the likes of Adam Lambert, Adele, and Bruno Mars. Even threw a few Glee mashups into the mix, and a whole run of Pentatonix that had Steve leaping through the air, and Bucky bouncing off the furniture to see if he could touch the 11-foot tall ceiling. Music ebbed and flowed, Steve and Bucky moved and danced together a little, circling each other, coming together to form gorgeous shapes, and then breaking apart again to play with the music. 

The session was everything Clint hoped it would be, and then some.

He paused every so often to fiddle with lighting. He’d tried bright flood light, ambient mood lights, homey warmth, all honey and gold colors in the gels. Even candlelight, a crapton of candles that Steve and Bucky helped him place and light all over the space, then ran around like crazy people trying to be the first to blow them all out. 

But his favorite was plunging the studio into near complete darkness so that everything was cast into relief, what flesh that could be seen stark in contrast to the shadows, glowing with life amidst the darkness.

They tried to continually switch up the positions, the lines they created, the shapes they drew with their bodies. At one point, Steve suggested a position that would pit their weights against each other to create a cantilevered balance built off two points of contact – the edges of their feet, and the point where their arms crossed each other, and held on.

“Sounds great, Steve. But you’re forgetting one thing,” Bucky admonished him.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, clearly confused.

“Well, it’s nice that you feel comfortable with me, with it. But you know I’m not gonna be able to hold the position.” Hs flapped the stub of his left arm for emphasis.

“Thought about that, too. Yeah, we can give up, and you can go back to your trailer or whatever, and I go back to taking bits and pieces, or we can try this,” Steve said, getting in there with his left shoulder, sliding in under Buck’s underarm, then stretching to the side to trail his arm up under the shoulder. When he was satisfied with the position, he told Buck to press against his elbow joint, press his feet against the side of Steve’s, and _extend_.

Held together by the stump and Steve’s beautiful arm, bicep bulging with carrying Bucky’s weight, balanced against each other’s feet, and smiling as though they’d created something special, grinning at each other, grinned at Clint. 

Clint couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Bucky _trust_ someone like that. He mighta gotten a little misty-eyed, or it might’ve been pollen. He couldn’t tell.

And as he watched, their bodies curved away from each other, only to curve back into each other, poised, balanced, strength and power oozing out of their lines, making them both look incredibly beautiful.

And the shapes … the shapes were breathtaking. Male bodies as component parts, building materials, reaching from the ground up, soaring … this was going to work. Despite the charged nature of Steve’s arrival, Clint could feel none of it in the air now. They were all about the art. There was no sexual tension, no innuendo. Nothing more than the moment, and the beauty within it.

They were onto a winner here. And Clint was sure it could be so much more.

&&&

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Fred. I appreciate it. Yeah, no, I might just do that. Glad she had a good day. You’re sure then?” Steve listened to the voice on the other end of the line, eyebrows raised, young face betrayed hopefulness, and then a grin burst across his face, lighting his eyes, and crinkling the folds around his eyes and mouth with delight.

Watching him, Clint realized that he’d really like to do a study of just Steve Rogers’s facial expressions. It would be another interesting spread, tight close-ups and soft medium shots, panoramic with the city stretched out around him. The waterfront, maybe, where gentrification hadn’t quite taken hold. Old New York. Old Brooklyn, maybe. Dockside, old warehouses. Scabby and old, worn and tossed aside, showcasing the golden boy that was Steve Rogers.

Yeah, he liked that idea.

But first, he was going to have to sift through hundreds of shots taken of this pair of idiots. He was actually looking forward to it.

“Yeah, Mom’s doin’ okay. Fred says she’s had her dinner and she’s takin’ a nap. So … I’m free, I guess.”

“Good. You don’t see enough of Nat, and she’s been nagging me. Down the Plough?” Clint suggested.

“That still there?” Bucky asked with a grimace. “Any better than when we were sneakin’ in past the bouncer when we were 15?”

“Nah. But it’s close, and the bartender’s a friend. I can guarantee you nobody’s gonna recognize you, or if they do, they don’t give a fuck.”

“Hah. Some things never change,” Bucky replied with a chuckle, and shrugged on his jacket, as Steve pulled on his.

“Yeah, if anyone does cause a fuss, Thor’ll toss ‘em to the curb.”

“And that’s worth the price of admission any night of the week,” Steve commented with a chuckle as they made their way out the door, Clint pausing to lock up before they were on their way.

&&&  
  


The Plough – or the Plough and Stars as it was legally designated on its license and tax forms – was an enduring fixture in the neighborhood that dated back to Clint and Bucky’s childhoods and even earlier. Both their dads used to stop there for a drink after their shifts, Bucky remembered hearing his granddad talk about neighborhood USO dances sponsored by the bar and other establishments of the era. As soon the boys figured out a way to slip past the bouncer when they were 15 going on stupid, they found their way into the cool, paneled interior. The bartender wasn’t as easy to get past as the guy at the door, so they had to make do with O’Douls and virgin drinks – or a soda or two – but it had made them both feel powerful, adult, and masters of all they surveyed that they got into the bar.

Clint started bussing tables when he was fifteen, a few months before he turned 16, and got paid under the table. Bucky did, too, but he turned his charm into taking orders and flirting with customers as soon as he turned 16. They both worked there until they split for college, but would come back and put in some time on breaks.

Old Mr. Fitzgerald sold the place off to the Odinsons in the early part of the new century, and he and the Missus retired to Florida. Thor and his brother tried to change the name of the place a few years back, started in on some renovations that would have brightened the place up, made it sleeker and more modern, but the neighborhood wouldn’t accept it. So even though the owners were Nordic, the place retained its Celtic flavor and name. 

For Bucky, it felt like coming home. He listened to Clint explain the neighborhood’s revolt of the brothers Odinson effort to modernize the place, all while keeping an eye on the very comely and really kinda sweet Steve Rogers. He felt a little guilty, if truth be told. He didn’t as a rule feel attracted to anyone on first sight, and to him, it kind of felt shallow and dull when he saw that people did. But there was something about Steve that drew him in, made him want to spend more time with him, made him want to do more than talk.

It had been more difficult than he’d expected, doing the photo shoot with Steve and his miles of beautiful skin. But Steve had been businesslike and calm, only appropriate touches, lending his strength and patience to create the poses and shapes that seemed to fit Clint’s vision for the photo shoot. At the same time it had been fun, joking around and egging each other on, challenging each other to try more and more elaborate poses, more difficult frames, more impossible leaps. More than that, Steve made him laugh in ways he’d almost forgotten he could.

“So how’d you meet this loser?” he found himself asking, nodding toward Clint as he did.

Steve scratched behind his ear and scrunched his face up. “Neighborhood art show at the Y?”

“Photography class at the adult ed,” Clint suggested.

“I dunno. Coffee at Starbucks, maybe. He holds up the line every morning with his big ass frou frou order,” Steve added with a grimace. Clint flipped him the bird and flicked off his hearing aid in protest.

“Ah, fuck him if he can’t take a joke. He frickin’ mainlines high test. But how’d you end up here? In Brooklyn, I mean.”

“Born here. Raised here. Spent some time in Europe, then came home a few years ago. Missed it.”

“Wait, how is that possible? You were raised here and we never ran into each other before? We’re the same age –“

“Home-schooled. I was really sick. I got turned down for a kidney transplant because my system was so fucked up, I had so much failing. My Mom tracked down the jizz donor she used for _in vitro_ – turned out the fucker lied up his ass about his medical history, just wanted the bounty for delivering a viable sample. I inherited a lot of shit directly from him. She asked him for help finding a donor, somebody in his family, maybe. He slammed the door in her face.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. She got ‘im though. Turns out sperm donation wasn’t the only thing he committed fraud on. Think he’s still serving successive sentences upstate.” Steve paused to grin proudly about his resourceful Mom and her epic adventures.

“Your Mom sounds seriously badass.”

“She totally is. She didn’t give up on me, even after my biological asshat of a father dissed her. My heart was going, my left lung collapsed shortly after. I was a short-timer. She pulled in favors – a lot of people owe my Mom, don’t ask me how – and one of her old colleagues invited us to participate in this trial in Germany. Then we left so I could get the treatments. Took years and lots and lots of needles, but I survived. And most of my problems got fixed along the way. I always wanted to come back, though, so here I am.”

“Huh,” Bucky replied, wondering what it would have been like to have known Steve Rogers when they were younger – would he have felt this strange attraction then? “So, wait – did you have a transplant?”

Steve shook his head. “No. The treatment was experimental. Ended up not needing any of that.”

“So this doctor – he found the cure for everything?”

“For me. I was the only subject who did so well. There were side effects, but not too bad. But I’m here. Never expected to be old enough to vote, let alone be nearly old enough to run for President.”

“To bein’ here,” Bucky proposed, raising his glass of beer up, waiting for Steve to clink his bottle against it. 

“What’re we toastin’ to?” Clint demanded, staring at Steve’s mouth. 

Steve enunciated clearly, “To being here.”

“Where else would we be?” he asked with a chuckle, not having caught Steve’s earlier tale of his myriad health issues. Steve and Bucky exchanged fondly exasperated glances, and each took a long pull from their respective drinks.

Suddenly, Steve frowned, patting himself down until he found his phone and thumbed off the lock screen. “Yeah?” 

Where before there was playfulness, now there was watchfulness, seriousness. A few words exchanged, and Steve stuffed his phone in his back pocket, fished out his wallet and drew out some bills, tossing them hastily onto the table. “Look, I’m sorry, I gotta get home. Ma just had a treatment yesterday, and sometimes it takes a day or two for the reaction to set in. She’s having a rough time, so I … I gotta go. It was good meeting you,” he added, thrusting his hand out to shake Bucky’s. He reached over and tapped Clint on the forearm, waved, and mouthed, “Mom’s not well. Gotta go.”

And then he was gone, leaving Bucky standing there at the table where moments ago he’d been warming up to flirt with the sweetest, funniest, and most gorgeous guy he’d met in he couldn’t remember how long, and now it was just him and Clint.

“Get his number?” Clint asked, pushing against his ear to reactivate his hearing aid.

“No,” Bucky answered glumly. “Didn’t get a chance to ask. And he didn’t offer.”

“Want it?”

Bucky glanced toward the empty seat across from him, and back to Clint, chewing on his lower lip.

If Steve wanted to hear from him, he would’ve said, right? And he didn’t say. So … “Nah. If It’s meant to be, I’ll hear from him.”

Right?

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to continue posting new chapters every few days, but we'll see how that goes. I'm also hoping to get some more written on some of my other WIPs. It would be nice to finsih one or two. 
> 
> Loving everyone's comments - I'm not going to give anything away (spoilers, sweeties!), so stick with me and discover it all the same time I do!


	4. A Plane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our universe expands a bit, and an intriguing idea is proposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I've been itching to write this all day, but, ugh, work! There was supposed to be more, but that's going to have to wait until tomorrow's installment. Had a bit of an upset this evening that threw me off my game, but all will be well and we'll get to see some more of Steve and Bucky in the next chapter. In the meantime, enjoy some Tony Stark and Clint.
> 
> I will find some photos to share of how I see the boys, but for Steve, definitely think Cap on the run in Winter Soldier. I kinda like the ballcap and glasses look, and definitely, definitely clean shaven. Although, Steve Rogers en route to the helicarrier in The Avengers is probably a closer match. I just love that look on him, plaid and khakis, a little spiky with the haircut, but still kinda old-fashioned. Yum!
> 
> As for Bucky, his hair is kinda long, getting toward his shoulders, and he can be scruffy at times while he's between projects, but he'll clean up nice to go see Steve. He likes to be comfortable more than he cares about looking sexy - so he always looks sexy and comfortable. As his press tour begins, he'll end up getting a Hollywood makeover.

“I dunno, Barnes. I think we should put him on payroll.”

“He’s my oldest friend. I don’t wanna have to pay him to hang out with me, Tony.”

Bucky was perched on the edge of the massive transparent desk that was Tony Stark’s fuck you to the suits who tried to seduce him into funding their wet dreams. He knew talent when he saw it, and he rarely saw it come through his door wearing Armani. Or even Tom Ford.

But Barnes? Kid had it by the boatload. Buttload. Whatever. They’d met in Afghanistan during Barnes’s last tour, before the IED that took his arm in fact. They’d hit it off, Barnes calling him on his shit like he wasn’t one of the richest men on the planet. Like he was just some Joe from New York, like Barnes himself.

When you live a life where everyone’s smile is fake, and everyone wants to pretend to be your friend in exchange for what you can do for them, it was a miracle to find the real deal, someone who just wantd to be a friend, and didn’t have an ulterior agenda.

Which is why, when the news broke about Barnes’s unit and his injuries, Tony had been on the first flight out, accompanied by the best orthopedic, vascular, and neuro team on the planet.

And Barnes’s trust in him meant they moved the cybernetic prosthetic years forward to where they had full FDA approval now, and the limbs were in full production – and full use.

So when Barnes healed and finished much of his most intensive PT, he’d started casting about for the next phase in his life. He mentioned an interest in acting. And Tony suddenly remembered that he owned a major motion picture studio, courtesy of dear old Dad’s interest in ingénues and starlets. He’d kept it out of Pac-Man takeovers for sentimental reasons – Mom had always liked the picture business – and let the studio pretty much run itself, specializing in indies and passion films. Which, surprisingly, had led to quite a bit of street cred for the place, and not a little respect for the guy who bankrolled it all. Especially when more than one of their films copped an Oscar.

Whadya make of them apples, Dad? Not a skin flick in the pile, unless it was done for art, like Barnes’s photo spread.

So, yeah, Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, genius, and now happily no longer a playboy, dabbled in the arts. And he kinda liked it. Who knew? 

But they weren’t exclusive by any means – Barnes could go after whatever parts he wanted, work with whoever he wanted. But any time he expressed interest in something, Stark Studios quietly made a more than reasonable bid for it.

Because, yeah. Real friends were hard to find.

And Tony didn’t have to pay Bucky to hang out with him, any more than Bucky wanted to pay his pal Clint. But it didn’t hurt to make him comfortable, make it easy, especially when the rewards were so good for all concerned.

“Okay, maybe not on payroll. But damn, with this eye, can you imagine the promotionals he could pull off? I’m just sayin’, I’d like to talk to him, get a feel for whether or not he’d like to be bi-coastal on occasion.”

“All right. Next time we’re all in New York, we’ll get together. Got a great bar in the old neighborhood where no one cares what your name is.”

“That where you met up with this cutie?” Tony asked, pointing to the tall, muscular blond-haired man sharing the photos with Barnes.

Barnes took a sharp breath and shook his head. “Barely know him.”

Tony turned in his seat and looked critically at Barnes. “But you’d like to,” he said wonderingly. “You actually … are _attracted_ to him?”

“He’s a nice guy. He’s easy on the eyes. So sue me.”

“Buck. Buckster. Barnestormer. The world wants to see you in a relationship. Everyone wants to be the one to pin you down in unholy matrimony. Or at least lustful shacking up. You’ve said it yourself – you hate it. It’s why you wanted to do this thing in the first place. Desexualize yourself. Well, there’s your ticket,” he pointed to the smooth face of Steve Rogers, eyes closed and long lashes fanned out across his freckle dusted cheeks, lips parted slightly in an expression of zen quietude, spiky golden brown hair flopped over one eyebrow.

“Whadya mean?”

“Anyone who looks at these pictures is going to see _chemistry_. I know that wasn’t the intent, I know that wasn’t part of it. But you two look incredible together. You look like you fit together. Like me and Pep, only without the caffeine. And people are gonna ask – _who is that_? Is Barnes tapping that? You don’t want people coming on to you, you don’t want people matchmaking you. Y’just wanna be left alone with your art. Fine. How about a beard?”

“I don’t like beards.”

“No, I don’t mean grow one. Although he could probably rock the lumberjack look. No, y’know how gay men who don’t want to be known as gay have a special gal pal they drag around? That kind of beard? Why not?”

“You mean a fake … relationship?”

“Bingo. Give the man a prize. Like, privacy. No more fans trying to insert themselves in your bed because you’re oh-so-lonely. Silence the idiot questions. I know – he’s a very private person, you want to respect that, so we’ll ask the press to refrain from questions. You’re deliriously happy, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“I’m not sure he’s gay. I’m not sure he’d be interested. I’m not sure I’m –“

“You’re interested. Maybe too much?”

Barnes did that thing with his lower lip, teeth sinking into the meat of it and holding while he ruminated on the question. If Tony weren’t in a committed relationship with the most amazing woman ever, he’d’ve been hard pressed not to try to tap just this – and ruin a great friendship in the process.

“I dunno. I … I honestly don’t know what it feels like. I only ever … one time, in high school. Never even knew his name. Was only around for a few weeks. Little spitfire, all rage and fury. My God, he was beautiful. Like, burning bush beautiful. It was the first time I ever thought of myself as possibly being gay. I didn’t have the courage to even walk up to him, let alone admit to myself what I was feeling. So … butterflies in the stomach. Dry mouth. An ache around my heart. Somethin’ goin’ on down there,” he waved toward his groin. “Sound like anything to you?”

“Could be indigestion. Could be our boy is growin’ up, Ma. Maybe this is something you need to look into.”

“But if it’s a fake relationship, won’t it get weird if I, y’know, want more?”

“You don’t know if you want more. Do you?” Barnes shrugged, frowning. “But you want the chance to find out if you do. You work best when you get to know someone. See if he’ll do the press tour with you, as your … boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Faux boyfriend, whatever the kids call it nowadays. And get to know him. Who knows? You make a friend, or you really do end up with a boyfriend. And if it doesn’t work out, if you don’t feel that way about each other, it’s as temporary as you wanna make it.” 

“Yeah,” Barnes said softly, doubtfully.

“I’d jump on it before the spread hits the stands. I’m ready to approve the photos, what about you?” Barnes nodded without hesitation. “Your pal Barton is going to be in serious demand – I’m serious, too, I want an in before he’s out of our league.”

“Stark, you’re one of the richest men on the planet – how is Clint gonna be out of your league?”

Tony shrugged and grinned at Barnes, who rolled his eyes and went “Pfffft” at him.

“It’ll take a few weeks for the magazine to lock down the issue and go to press. So excited, now I’m a magazine magnate. Walking in the footsteps of William Randolph, huh? Hmm, maybe we need to do a science magazine, whadya think? Big spread on the benefits and value of pot. Undo all that crap Hearst and _Scientific American_ did back in the day.”

“That’s the last time we watch _Reefer Madness_ , Tony. You always get weird ideas.”

“Abuse of the power of the press, my friend. Anything that suppresses true scientific fact is the enemy of the people.”

Tony gathered up the photos, pulled the approval form toward himself, and scrawled his name and dated it. Then he slid it over to Barnes, who did the same. “Good. Now, grab the jet and head back to to the Big Apple. Set up a meet with your boy Barton for, oh, Friday? And get on this boy’s schedule ASAP. I got a good feeling about this, Barnes.”

&&&

“Tony Fucking Stark. _The_ Tony Fucking Stark.”

“It’s actually Anthony Edward Stark, but I’d bet he’d answer to Tony Fucking Stark,” Bucky answered with a yawn. He dragged his hand back through his longish hair, wondering if it was time for a haircut, or if he could get away with letting it grow out a little longer until he had to clean up his act for the press tour. It was just brushing his shoulders now, felt good when he moved his head, loose and free. And it gave him something to play with when he was bored. He just had to remember not to stick the ends in his mouth and chew on them. Because, ew.

Press tour. Yeah, the tour. _Steve_.

Did Steve like long hair? Would he want to run his fingers through Bucky’s? Would Bucky like? Bucky thought he might. If it was Steve doing the running.

He jolted when Clint started talking again.

“Yeah, but he wants to meet _me_?” Clint demanded, incredulous. Seriously, the guy should get a clue. Clint was the shit when it came to photography. No one had an eye like his. He could be the next Adams, Liebowitz, Mapplethorpe, for fuck’s sake.

“Wants to hire you. Y’interested?”

“Not like on a permanent thing, right? I mean, I still get to do my own thing –“

“Probably a retainer. He said something about promotionals. All the press stuff has stills, and some of it’s staged with a photographer, some of it’s taken during the shoot. Better the promotional material, the better the attention. You’re good at what you do, Clint. Might even be one of the best.”

“Liked it, didn’t you? The photos. Nat helped me pick them out, but damn, son – there were a lot of good ones. Great ones. Might wanna think about doing a show sometime. No magazine could ever hold all the shots I loved.”

“Somethin’ to talk to Tony about it. He’d probably finance it. I’m not shitting you – he genuinely likes your work.”

“Okay. Okay, then. You said Friday?”

“That’s what he suggested. He’ll fly in if you’re willing to meet.”

“Can I have Nat there? I don’t like to make big decisions without her.”

“Seriously, dude. A ring? On her finger? When?”

Clint just looked at him without expression for a long moment, then silently went to his desk, fished out his keys, and unlocked the top right drawer of the ancient wooden desk. He drew a small hinged box out of the drawer and held it out on his palm, his eyes locking on Bucky’s.

“Seriously?” Bucky breathed. “You’re really gonna –“

“Take a look at it. Tell me if I picked the right one.”

Bucky took the box, a simple affair in black velvet with a tiny gold clasp on one side, and a hidden hinge on the other. He eased the lid open reverently, revealing a teardrop diamond surrounded by emerald chips the color of Nat’s eyes, set in a simple, old-fashioned silver setting. A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face. “It’s fuckin’ perfect, man. If she doesn’t love it, I’ll personally kick her ass.”

“And she’ll break off the other arm and hit you over the head with the wet end,” Clint said automatically, quoting an old movie neither one of them could remember the name of. Buffy, maybe? But it was a token of the relationship between them that Clint never treated him like glass, never pulled punches, and never tiptoed around diddly squat. They always were, and forever would be, complete assholes to each other.

“When’re you gonna ask her?” Bucky asked, handing the little box back to Clint, who stared at the ring for a moment with a sappy smile before snapping it closed, tucking it back into the drawer, and locking it again. It was the only thing in the entire office that was locked, which made Bucky suddenly ask, “You don’t think she’s gonna find it suspicious – an actual locked drawer in your office?”

“Told her it’s where I keep the porn.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“You sure she hasn’t picked the lock already, then?”

A look of panic burst across Clint’s face and he dropped to his knees to examine the lock. Then he bounced back up and looked at Bucky like he was about to hyperventilate. “If Nat picked the lock, she wouldn’t leave any evidence. Oh, man – am I fucked or what?”

“If she picked the lock and didn’t like the ring, you’d know. The fact you’re still breathing? I think you got a chance, dude.”

“Oh, you are the worst best friend in the world, y’know that? Fuck you.”

“Told ya – I’m not putting my dick up your ass, Barton.”

He may have been decommissioned, but Bucky kept in shape, and his reflexes were still hella good. Which is how he managed to duck when Clint’s stapler catapulted toward his head. “And Nat’s not gonna appreciate it if I have to miss your wedding because you caused me brain damage, shithead.”

“Ah, you can still be best man while you’re in a coma. We’ll just stick the ring on your nose, no one’ll know any different.”

“Best man?”

“Yeah. Who else would I ask?”

Ah. Now Bucky saw his opening. “Well, Steve Rogers for one. You guys seem pretty tight.”

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. And if you weren’t available, he’d be my second choice. But you’re my first. Y’gonna leave me hangin’?”

“What? No. No, I’d be honored to be your best man. But, y’know, speakin’ of Steve –“

“I knew it. I knew you had the hots for him!”

“I don’t get hots.”

“You do for him. I saw it on your face. Just like whoever it was in our senior year that had your motor running.”

“You saw that?”

“It was for real?”

“This little guy, all piss and vinegar. God, he was beautiful.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothin’. So, what, you want Steve’s number now?”

“Was thinking maybe we could pay him a visit … ?”

“And we would be doing that why?”

“Um, I have a proposition for him?”

“Is it illegal?”

“It’s Tony’s idea, really.”

“So definitely illegal.”

“Not illegal. Not even illicit. Maybe a little dishonest, but for a good cause.”

“He’s probably at home. He works out of his place, sticks pretty close to his Mom.”

“Just what is the deal with his Mom? I didn’t get a chance to ask –“

“And he didn’t say. She’s got cancer. Stage 4, lung. Steve’s doing everything he can for her, but cancer treatment isn’t cheap, even with insurance. She puts on a brave face, and she’s a fighter, but Steve knows, she’s not gonna be around forever. So he spends as much time as he can with her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Whole neighborhood’s gonna mourn that lady. But in the meantime, the whole neighborhood takes care of them both – they’ve only been back about five years, but Sarah Rogers makes a helluva entrance. And Steve’s just genuinely nice, good guy, helps old ladies carry groceries, holds doors for anyone and everyone. Pitches in and helps wherever he can. She does too, in her own way. So, yeah. Oh.”

“Think they’d mind if we dropped in – do we have to call first, or –“

“I guarantee you Sarah Rogers would love to take a good long look at you, bud. And if you’re interested in her baby boy, she just might adopt you. She might adopt you anyway ‘cos you’re pretty,” Clint grinned at his old friend. “And unless she’s feelin’ down, the Rogers’s household is generally an open house. Let’s pick up some stuff at the bakery – I happen to know Ms. Sarah has a fondness for brownies, even if they don’t have hash in ‘em.”

Shit, just what was Bucky getting himself into?

And was Tony awake yet? He needed to have a quick discussion with the tech genius in his life.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I really appreciate all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks! We've barely begun our journey. The 2016 Stucky Big Bang requires that entries are at least 10,000 words. Well, I've already passed that. I'm kind of estimating this will run about 50,000 words or so. But I am crap at estimates, really. It'll be as long as it needs to be, but it needs to be done by sometime in August 2016.
> 
> I wouldn't say no to more comments ... :)


	5. X by Y

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky learns how close Steve has been all along. And when Bucky makes his pitch, he's surprised by Steve's counterproposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, these boys surprised me. This chapter went in directions I seriously was not expecting. But I kinda like. I hope you do, too.
> 
> 9Sep16 - Updated to include the lovely art by [substeverogers](http://substeverogers.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. So blessed - started out with no artist, ended up with three!

Clint led Bucky to a nice little brick rowhome with a neatly clipped front yard, a knee-high white picket fence, and a startling array of brilliantly colored tropical flowers in a pair of cedar planter boxes stretching along the front porch. The front door boasted a stained glass mandela hanging in the window, and a sign that said, “Fireman Save My Cat,” next to the doorbell.

“My Mom’s house is right around the corner,” Bucky observed wonderingly as they trotted up the stairs to the front door.

“Yeah. Mine, too. Guess we’re not doing a kegger tonight, huh? Too many Moms.” 

Bucky punched Clint in the upper arm and sent him sprawling across the porch, skidding to a stop in the corner. He barely caught the planter on a small table before it hit the floor and shattered.

“Fucker. Hit the doorbell.” Clint set the planter and table to rights, then scrambled to his feet.

Bucky chuckled and speared the button with his index finger, hearing the refrain of The Beatles’s _Let It Be_ sound on the other side of the door. “Be right there!” he heard a woman call from inside. A woman who sounded strangely familiar …

Clint bounded across the porch to stand by Bucky as the door opened. Revealing Winifred Barnes.

“Mom?” Bucky reacted. “Mom, what’re you doing here?”

“I’m visiting with my friend, just like I do every day. Jamie, what’re y’doin’ here, hun?”

“Hey, Mrs. Barnes,” Clint greeted mildly. “We’re here to see Steve.”

“Oh, good. He could use the distraction. He’s driving his Ma crazy. I didn’t know you knew Steve, Jamie.”

“Uh, yeah, we met a few weeks back. He’s nice. I, um –“

“Oh. _Oh._ Jamie, _really?_ Oh, baby –“

“Ma, _no_. I just wanna talk to him. About Clint’s project, y’know. Can you send him out, or can we come in?”

“I brought brownies from D’Ellaria’s,” Clint offered, holding up the only slightly battered white bakery bag.

“You can go on in, Clint. She’ll love ‘em. Send Steve out, okay. I’m gonna talk to my son here.” She stepped out onto the porch, and Clint slipped in behind her, waggling his eyebrows at Bucky over her head, mouthing “Sucks to be you.”

“Ma, it ain’t what you think.”

“I’m not thinkin’ anything, baby. But he’s a nice boy. He takes good care of his Ma, and he’s a genuine sweetie. And he’s lonely, too. Plus he likes boys. You could do a lot worse.”

“Ma, I’m not –“ and then Bucky realized he was fighting his Ma over the very thing he’d come here to discuss with Steve. Fake discuss? Plot? Shit, he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and having his Ma here only confused him more. “We’re not. I mean, not yet. I don’t wanna jinx it, okay? Don’t say anything.”

She pinched her fingers and slid them across her closed lips, mimicking a zipper. Then she surged forward and grabbed his chin in her hand, squeezing it for all she was worth, while she planted a delighted kiss on his cheek. “Go get ‘im, tiger,” she whispered, and then she spun away and trotted back into the recesses of the house, caroling a, “Hiya, Steve,” as they passed in the cool, dim interior hallway.

Steve glanced over his shoulder to wave back at Bucky’s Mom as he came to the doorway, and Bucky had to admit that he looked good. Like, _really_ good. Tight fitting t-shirt with a plaid button down tossed over it hanging loose, khaki board shorts, and fucking flip flops on those big feet at the end of those miles of golden leg. He was wearing dark-rimmed glasses, and his hair was mussed, half flopping in his face. He looked curious and maybe mildly annoyed. And surprisingly fuckable. 

Fuckable? Jesus H. Christ, what was going on with Bucky’s hormones? Had he suddenly hit puberty at last?

“Buck,” he greeted dubiously. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“I, ah, I wanted to talk to you. About stuff.”

“Stuff.”

“Yeah, stuff. Look, my Mom’s in there with your Mom, and Clint is never up to any good. Mind if we take a walk? There’s a park not far – “

“I know it. Yeah, sure. Lemme just let Ma know I’m goin’ out.” He turned and shouted down the hall to announce his plans, and his Ma shouted right back. She sounded full of life, bright and cheerful, like the legend Clint had claimed her to be. “Let’s go.”

They walked side by side down the block and around the corner to a little park that was edged in black wrought iron, with a little sign that said, “Fougner Park.” There was a slide, a little carousel, and a jungle gym for the little ones, a baseball diamond, and at the far end of the park, a basketball court for the sports types. A swing set with those funny leather or vinyl or whatever they were seats that feel like you’re stuck in a sling that’s too small. All throughout the park were walking and bike paths, benches, and clusters of trees and flowers, along with open green spaces. It was mid-day, and kids were in school, so the park was deserted, except for a couple of old guys playing chess at one of the tables over by the water fountain, and a pair of young women near the carousel huddled over a tablet, giggling.

Steve hadn’t said a word during the walk, and Bucky found himself getting more and more nervous. Geeze, he hadn’t been this nervous when he asked his first girl out, or his first guy. Facing down an unseen enemy in Kabul hadn’t scared him as much as walking silently alongside Steve Rogers.

Just what was happening to him? Was this the way “normal” people felt? He wasn’t sure he liked it, to be honest. And then he glanced over and saw how the sun glinted off Steve’s hair, how his freckles looked against the pink of his cheeks. How he gnawed at his upper lip, drawing it between his teeth to worry it. And he thought maybe, just maybe …

“So what are you doin’ back in Brooklyn, Bucky? Thought you’d be gearin’ up for your, what, press tour?” Steve asked as he led him to the swing set.

“Yeah, I will be. Soon. ‘S’what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.” There. He was capable of human speech, logical and adult and all that good shit.

“Gonna send me free passes to see it at the Odeon?” Steve settled into that torture device of a seat, wrapped his hands around the chains on which it hung, and just sort of dragged his feet back and forth to get his butt moving.

“Yeah, no. I mean, I can arrange that if you want – take your Mom, she might like it.” Bucky frowned at the contraption, then decided he’d give it a try. If Steve could do it, he certainly could.

Steve snorted and launched himself to swing back and forth a couple of times. “She’s a big fan. ‘Bout kicked me to Queens and back for not gettin’ your autograph for her last time. Think you’re gonna hafta come in when we get back and meet ‘er. My life’s not worth shit if she misses her chance again.”

Bucky kicked off and set himself swinging, trying to remember how you bent your legs and kicked off to greater heights. It had been a long time.

“Always liked this park,” Steve said suddenly. “Always wondered what it would be like to play in it.”

“Whadya mean?”

He stubbed his feet into the ground to halt his swing, and twisted around in the seat to point back behind them at an apartment building. “See that window, third floor, fourth window in from the left? That was my bedroom. Only time I really got out of the apartment was to go to the doctor, and most times, they came to me. Or I went the hospital. So I’d sit in that window – Mom made up a nice little nest of a window seat for me, all the comforts of home – and I’d watch the world. Imagine myself in it. Make up stories about the people I saw,” he said wistfully. Wistfully, but not like he felt sorry for himself. Like he’d been part of something wonderful. “I loved to watch all the kids in the summer. But I especially loved to watch it when the snow fell, and people came out to build snowmen or throw snowballs. Always had a special place in my heart for winter, even though it wanted to kill me.”

“I used to play here. Busted out my front teeth right over there on the jungle gym. Looked like a monster with all the blood all over my face and clothes. Baby teeth were already gone, so they ended up doing implants so I wouldn’t have to wear false teeth at 10. Ma woulda tanned my hide for being on the monkey bars without permission if I hadn’t come home lookin’ so pathetic.”

“I think I remember that. Yeah. Old Mr. Budzynski came out and helped you find your teeth and took you home. He was a good egg. He’d visit me, sometimes. Well, bring me comic books from the news agent. He passed away a few years ago,” Steve added, downcast.

“So you saw me, but I couldn’t see you. And our Moms are friends. How come I never knew you? How come I never heard of you? How come we didn’t play together?” Like Steve, Bucky had stilled on the swing set, and had twisted the chains holding his seat so he could face Steve directly.

Steve looked at him with a small smile and shrugged. “Wasn’t allowed to. Immune system was too fragile. That’s why I was home-schooled. Couldn’t risk pickin’ somethin’ up from other kids.”

“Oh. But you’re okay now?”

“Everything tip top. ‘Cept my eyes. I do have to wear glasses to read really fine print.” He pulled his glasses out of the breast pocket of his plaid over-shirt and waggled them at Bucky. “But you didn’t wanna talk about my specs. So, what’s up, Bucky Barnes?”

“Photo spread’s gonna hit the stands in a couple more weeks. My manager, whatever you wanna call him, he thought we looked like … like we had chemistry. Like we were, um … together.”

“You mean like lovers.”

“Yeah, I guess. I don’t … I don’t really get that stuff, y’know? I don’t _feel_ sexual attraction like most people do.”

“You ace?”

“Gray maybe. Maybe demi. Pan. I don’t know. Maybe I just haven’t met the right partner yet. But he pointed out that having someone as my boyfriend might mean that people would stop trying to set me up, or get in my pants, y’know? And since we _do_ apparently look like we fit together, I was wondering …”

“Yeah?” Steve shifted a little closer, eyebrows raised and expression attentive.

“Would you be willing to be my fake boyfriend for the press tour?”

Steve let himself swing backward a little, allowed himself to untwist and then twisted the swing back again. “Huh. Not what I was expecting. What would that entail?”

“Well, travelling with me on the tour, personal appearances as my companion. Maybe some press coverage. It’s hard to know what they’ll want –“

“I can’t. I gotta take care of my Ma. I don’t have much time –“

“Yeah, I get that. But I also understand you been trying to get her into a trial –“

Steve shuffled away, kicking off so the swing spun around for a moment before letting it drift to a stop again. “Most of the expenses are paid for by the pharmaceutical company, but if the scan or whatever is what they call standard of care, it gets billed to insurance. There’s a copay. But worse than that, the trial that looks the most promising has an approved drug and a drug they’re testing. The testing drug is covered, but the approved one isn’t. And Medicare doesn’t have it as approved in their formulary so they won’t reimburse. So, I don’t see how I can get my Ma into it –“

“I’ll pay for it.”

“It’s $10,000 an infusion. She needs them every two weeks. For an indefinite period. Like maybe, as long as she lives.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“If I do this fake boyfriend gig with you. Travel – how long?”

“About a month. All over the world.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’ll pay for it anyway. I’m not an asshole, Steve. I’m not gonna dangle a potential cure in front of you and then take it away.”

“There is no cure. There’s only buying more time,” Steve said solemnly. “She’s still so alive, Buck. She’s got so much more living to do. I wanna … I wanna give her everything. I –“

“Then let me help.”

“Okay. Wow. That’s um … why?”

“Because … Clint speaks very highly of you.”

“That’s not the reason.” 

“Your Mom and my Mom are friends. I didn’t even know. I don’t understand why she didn’t ask me for help already.”

“Your Ma never mentioned Sash?”

“Well, yeah, she’s been talkin’ about him for years, he’s the love of her life since my Dad died – oh my fucking God. My Mom is gay.”

“Pretty sure she’s not. They’re like platonic soulmates or something. Best friends since like grade school or something. Even when we were in Germany, they kept in close touch. I think Ma learned to use the internet just so she could keep in touch with your Ma.”

“How is it we never met? How is it I never knew about you?”

“Told you, practically Bubble Boy. I wasn’t allowed companions. And then we went to Germany. By the time we got back, you were already Mr. Hollywood.”

“I’m sorry about that. We coulda been friends.”

Steve looked at him for a long silent moment, assessing. Bucky had the sense of someone looking deep inside him, and wondered if Steve could see the unfamiliar surge of attraction he inspired in Bucky. Would he be repulsed by it? Or could it be he would return it?

“A month?” Steve said at length.

“A month. Two at the most.”

“And I’d get to see the world?”

“Hollywood, Bejing, Hong Kong, Rome, Berlin, Paris, London, Cairo, Melbourne, Rio, coupla other cities. Back here to New York.”

“Not a lot of time in each.”

“You could sightsee while I’m getting grilled by the press.”

“Always wanted to see the world. Find out the stories beyond the window,” Steve said softly, wistfully, a touch of sadness weighting his features.

In that moment, Bucky wanted to give him the world and all its wonders. He wanted to grab him by the shoulders and draw him to himself, wrap him in everything that he was, and protect him from all the sadness and pain that waited for him.

He knew he couldn’t. But he would do whatever Steve would allow him to do.

“I have a condition,” Steve said suddenly, lifting his eyes to look directly into Bucky’s. Bucky was struck by the brilliant blue of Steve’s eyes, the pain drawing the skin around them tight and pale. 

“Yes?” Bucky asked, his voice hushed, and he felt like all the sounds around them – the birdsong, the susurration of the traffic, the people going about their days like nothing of significance would happen today – fell to silence.

“My Ma. She wants to see me be happy. She wants … she wants me to have somebody.”

“Somebody …?”

“To love. To love me. She wants to see me happy before she,” he paused, drawing a deep, shaky breath, “before she dies. So if I do this for your press tour, I need you to keep it up, keep up the charade, as long as my Ma –“ Steve stopped, and Bucky realized there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

Bucky didn’t realize he’d stood, that he was walking slowing, carefully, gently toward Steve. “Okay. Okay, I can do that,” he agreed, feeling something unfamiliar and powerful welling up in his chest. “As long as you need me, I can do that,” he breathed, and then his fingers touched Steve’s cheek, his thumb brushed through the tracks of his tears. “I –“

Steve looked up at him, his brows drawn together, something like fear seeping into his expression. Bucky let his palm curve against Steve’s cheek and Steve lifted his hand to close over it, still watching Bucky warily.

“We don’t … we don’t have to _do_ anything. Just look like we mean something to each other,” Steve whispered huskily, curling his fingers around Bucky’s hand and pulling it away.

Bucky felt a crash coming on, blinked back his own tears and nodded, drawing his hand away. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he agreed, feeling something inside crack and splinter as he started to take a step backward.

His heart, he realized.

He felt like all the air had been sucked into the void, and he was left stranded in the vacuum, the edges of his awareness darkening as each second without oxygen passed.

Steve stood suddenly, and they were so very close, inches separating them, a narrow band of air already growing warmer with the heat of their bodies.

“But I guess we’d better make sure we can be convincing,” Steve said in low, strained voice. And then his lips were brushing across Bucky’s, and Bucky felt energy spike through his system. His right hand rose to touch Steve’s face again, while his left, the prosthetic one, settled on his waist, gently pulling him closer. This time, Steve seemed willing, and stepped into the orbit of Bucky’s arm. Steve’s own arms slid around Bucky’s shoulders, his fingers finding their way into Bucky’s hair, caressing the back of his neck, his scalp, and Bucky felt like music was bursting forth in his blood, colors not seen in nature exploding behind his eyes. He was soaring.

He wanted to keep kissing Steve until the stars winked out.

Steve pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “I think we’ll do,” he breathed softly. “So, fake boyfriends, huh?”

“Wha – uh, yeah,” Bucky responded, regaining his bearings. “It’s a deal?” he asked with a little more composure.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, and as he took a step back, pulling his hands away, Bucky fought the urge to grab him back, cover his body in kisses and worship him the way every atom in his body demanded.

“Okay. Time to meet my Ma. _Boyfriend_.” Steve’s fingers found Bucky’s laced them together, and he tugged as he walked backward. Smiling.

Jesus. Bucky was _fucked_.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought it was gonna be easy? This is Steve and Bucky we're talking about, right?
> 
> The financial situation Steve and Sarah are facing is all too common, unfortunately. Some pharma companies can be persuaded to cover the costs that are too great a burden on the patient, but others simply can't without violating their own ethics SOPs. And there is amazing stuff happening in research today, drugs targeting specific genes with greater and greater precision. I worked on a trial very like the one Sarah is trying to get on - the experimental drug was intended to keep the patient going long enough for the already approved drug to build up in the system and start knocking the hell out of cancer. Very promising in early trials. It's been a helluva week, thought it might be nice to share something that's hopeful. Not a cure, but more time.
> 
> Thanks, as ever, for reading. I'm always so thrilled to get notified of a comment, a kudo, or a bookmark. You spoil me. I wouldn't mind being spoiled even more. :)


	6. A Volume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter in which adorable awkwardness happens, terms are sort of negotiated, and the big reveal to the friends and family generates a variety of reactions.
> 
> And I'm really enjoying everyone's comments and guesses. The truth will be revealed in due course. In the meantime, enjoy some quality time with a coupla kids from Brooklyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely enough, this story isn't going quite the way I'd planned. Or maybe I should just take that as my own personal normal - my stories never go quite the way I planned, because the boys always step in and take over, and take it in the direction _they_ want to go. And that is certainly happening here.
> 
> And this story might actually end up a bit longer than I'd planned, because of the way the boys are wrestling the story away from me. We'll see. The fun is always in the journey, anyway!

“So … PDA.”

“Huh?”

“PDA. Public displays of affection. How much is your Mom gonna expect?”

“Oh. Oh, fuck, I hadn’t thought of that. She, I … probably a _lot_ ,” Steve answered, suddenly stopped, his fingers falling away from Bucky’s. “Shit. This isn’t gonna work.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked, turning to consider Steve more closely.

“Well, she’s gonna expect us to, you know, be touching all the time. She’s very tactile, you’ll see. Maybe it comes from bein’ a nurse, I dunno, but she’s always touchin’ people. She’ll practically take your pulse and your temp the first time she hugs you, too. And she _will_ hug you. Your Ma calls her the Hug Monster. I … oh, fuck. Look, I don’t –“

“I’m okay with PDA. I just wanna known how much,” Bucky assured him, laying his hands lightly on Steve’s shoulders. The other guy stopped twitching long enough to look directly into Bucky’s eyes, long enough to see the sincerity, the calm, and he relaxed a little, nodding to himself.

“Well, how much do you usually do with your other boyfriends?”

“What other boyfriends?” Bucky let his hands fall away and took a step back, and they resumed their walk.

“Well, you must – I mean look at you, you’re,” he stopped again, and waved his hand to encompass Bucky head to toe, “ _you_. You must’ve had boyfriends, right? Or girlfriends, I dunno –“ Steve started to work himself up again, suddenly gasping for air in short, desperate pants.

“I don’t date. I go out on studio approved excursions because I don’t date. Because I don’t have a significant other. That’s one of the soul destroying exercises you’re gonna save me from on this tour. So I really need you to breathe with me here, Steve. C’mon man, don’t be hyperventilatin’ – I dunno what to do if you fuckin’ pass out, dude –“

“She’s gonna expect touching. And kissing. Probably lots of kissing. I’m sorry, I –“

“I like kissing. I may not date, but I like kissing. A lot. And I like kissing you. So, I don’t see the downside here.”

“Oh. Okay then. If you’re okay with that, then maybe … well, I don’t wanna ask, but –“

“What?”

“Maybe we can walk with our arms around each other? Y’know, casual, but kinda –“

“Possessive. Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

They awkwardly shuffled around each other, testing out arm positions until they finally settled on each of them resting an arm around the other’s waist, hand tucked on the opposing hip. They didn’t pull together too tightly, but Bucky could feel the warm of Steve’s skin seeping through his shirt, and enjoyed the play of muscle and bone under his hand. He could get to like this.

They were almost to the house when Bucky spied a dark skinned, goateed man peering out from behind the front window curtains. “Who’s that?” he asked Steve, pretending to nose at Steve’s hair, enjoying the clean scent of his shampoo, the soft tickle of his hair against his cheek.

“Oh fuck. That’s Sam. He’s my best friend. I don’t wanna lie to him, but if I tell him we’re not real, he’s never gonna be able to keep the secret. We gotta convince him, too. Shit. Oh, man, this keeps getting’ more complicated. Look, when we get to the porch, can you just kiss me? Like you really mean it?”

As the curtain dropped back in place, a dark shadow hidden behind the fabric, Bucky glanced over at Steve and his miserable countenance and nearly burst out laughing. Not because Steve was funny or pathetic, but because he couldn’t believe his luck! Another opportunity to kiss Steve!

“Mean it how?” he whispered to Steve.

“Like you … like I, um –“

“Like I love you? Like you turn me on?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it exactly.”

“Yeah, Steve. I think I can pull that off.”

“Good. Damn, I’m really gonna owe you big time –“

“Y’don’t owe me shit. I’m gettin’ somethin’ out of this deal, too, remember? And trust me – it’s not a hardship to kiss you.”

“No?” Steve asked, smirking a little. He caught Bucky’s hand in his again, twining their fingers together. Bucky reached for him with his prosthetic hand, pulling him a little closer.

“I’m thinkin’ you know you’re a good kisser. You practice right? What, in the mirror? On your teddy?” Bucky was chuckling, and Steve was smiling back at him, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“Had a girlfriend for a while. Peggy. We’re friends now. I just wasn’t … it didn’t feel right to hold her back. Y’know?”

“I’ll have to thank this Peggy if I ever get to meet her. For teachin’ you how to kiss.”

“Yeah, okay. That could be arranged. Okay, Sam is back at the window. Now’d be a good time, I think.”

They were in the front yard now, that tiny little enclosure that separated Steve’s house from the neighborhood. Bucky nudged him closer to him, let his hand go and brought his palm up to cradle Steve’s cheek, sliding his fingers into the softness that was Steve’s hair. Steve’s hands started at Bucky’s waist and rode up his back, pressing Bucky’s chest against his. The kiss started out slow, sweet, and perfect, lips sliding over lips, soft sounds and gentle press of skin to skin. Bucky was delighted when he felt Steve’s tongue brush against his lower lip, and he eagerly opened his mouth to accept Steve’s probing tongue. Bucky felt himself smiling into the kiss as his hand slid down along the nape of Steve’s neck pulling him even closer, even as his hand caressed and kneaded the skin, the muscles there. Steve’s hands slid up his back to grab onto his shoulders, locking him in tight as he turned his face to deepen the kiss further.

Then Bucky heard Steve moan, long and low, a sound he’d never heard before and felt the need to hear it every moment of every day. He redoubled his efforts, sliding his hand to caress the line of Steve jaw, thumb stroking over the crest of his cheekbone.

Suddenly Bucky felt something he only rarely experienced – tingling, excitement, a tightening of his jeans as his cock responded to Steve’s kisses, Steve’s touch.

_Shit._

Regretfully, with a whimper all his own to match the one he dragged out of Steve, Bucky pulled back, gratified to see that Steve chased after him for a second or two before drawing a deep breath and turning a curious gaze on Bucky.

“Don’t wanna meet your Ma with a hard-on,” he explained huskily, turning them so his back was facing the house.

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d –“

“Doesn’t happen often. Kinda hate to waste it, but I don’t wanna make _that_ kind of impression on your Mom. Plus, mine is here, too. I don’t need _that_ talk, that’s for sure.”

“No, my Ma? She’d probably congratulate you and grill you on your prostate health.” At the choking noises that bubbled up out of Bucky’s chest – and he felt sure he was going to swallow his fucking tongue – Steve giggled – fucking giggled! “Yeah, my Ma knows no boundaries. I didn’t realize that wasn’t normal until I was almost 20. I had to learn how to behave in polite company from movies, ‘cos I sure as fuck didn’t learn it from my Ma.”

Bucky laughed out loud – threw his head back and laughed, and grabbed Steve into a bear hug as he laughed. Steve returned the gesture, laughing along with him. “Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into? I feel like Alice sliding down that rabbit hole!”

“Nah, I picture you as the Mad Hatter – all fancied up with your tophat and tails.”

“That make you the Cheshire Cat? All grin?”

Steve glanced down between them and let his grin take over his face. “Distraction. Good to know.”

Bucky followed his gaze and realized that his little problem had resolved itself, and shared Steve’s grin. He leaned forward to plant a kiss on the tip of Steve’s nose.

“What was that for?”

“For being an adorable and useful distraction. I might just have to keep you, Rogers. Now let’s get this over with. Wanna see if I’m ready to put in my Oscar-worthy performance.” 

“If you win, I’ll write your acceptance speech.”

&&&

“Huh.” Clint grunted, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Sarah Rogers envelop Bucky Barnes in an octopus hug that didn’t look like it was gonna let up any time this decade.

“Yeah, _huh_ ,” Sam agreed grumpily.

“Speak, my friend. Use your fucking words,” Clint admonished him as he turned his head sideways to watch Sarah’s face scrunch up in pleasure.

“Kinda sudden, don’t you think?”

“I dunno, you didn’t see them eye-fucking each other during the shoot. That was a coupla weeks ago. Thought I was gonna have to put down a plastic tarp to catch all the virtual cum.”

“Jesus fuck, Barton, you are disgusting. You kiss Natasha with that mouth?”

“And a whole lot more, my friend. A _whole_ lot more.”

“Jesus, why do I talk to you? Why do I even _know_ you?”

“You’re just jealous. You had your chance with Steve and you blew it.”

“I didn’t blow it. It was a mutual decision. Neither of us wanted to fuck up our friendship by makin’ it weird.”

“So watching Bucky crawl down Steve’s throat in search of his dick ain’t weird, right?”

“Disgusting. Only word to describe you.”

“Just remember. You get to go home to Riley. You love Riley. You put a ring on Riley. Y’don’t have any fuckin’ claims on Steve.”

“It’s not a claim. I just worry. Guy’s like a little baby deer in the wilderness, he’s Bambi, he’s –“

“If you call him Dumbo, I’m gonna have to tell him. And you know how he gets.”

“Cold shoulder for a week. Don’t remind me.”

“Keep the Disney comparisons down to a dull roar. Think of him as Simba. He’s about to take on the world. He can’t wait to be king.”

“With a fucking movie star. You know what they’re like –“

Clint’s demeanor shifted suddenly from good-natured assholery to chill as winter in an eyeblink. “That’s my best friend you’re about to diss, Wilson. All joking aside, Bucky’s not like that. He’s not the kiss and tell type, he’s not the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. He’s the kind that stays. He’s the kind that doesn’t make a move until he’s sure. So tread carefully m’man. ‘Cos if you diss my bro, you diss me, and you diss Fred, too.”

Sam paused, his mouth working soundlessly for a moment before he nodded. “I … shit, you’re right.”

Clint settled back into his spot propped against the wall, enjoying the Sarah Rogers show. She’d opened her eyes and was making the strangest expression at Fred that looked like frigging angels-wept kinda of joy, and Fred was practically bouncing up and down she was so excited. Who knew they’d be so happy about Steve and Bucky getting together? Clint was happy for them both, although he expected his bros nights with Buck were going to cut back. Ah well. Gave him more time to spend on Nat. It wasn’t thje worst result. He grinned and rolled his shoulders, glancing over to where Steve stood, his eyebrows trying to crawl past his hairline. He looked like he either want to cry or arm wrestle his Ma for his new boyfriend. Yep, all was right with the world. “Damn skippy I’m right.”

“Think she’s ever gonna let ‘im go?”

“She ever expects Steve to get any, she’s gonna have to.”

“Yes. Definitely disgusting. I did not need that visual.”

&&&

There were tears in Sarah Rogers’s eyes when she cupped Bucky Barnes’s cheeks in her hands and smiled up at him. She’d already hugged him a couple of times, pretty much shrieked into his ear with excitement, even jumped up and down a little in the circle of his embrace. And yeah, he was pretty sure she took his pulse and his temperature in the course of feeling him up and hugging him. Steve was right – she really was a hug monster. He just hoped she stopped before she got to the prostate exam. But now she held his gaze as she smiled up at him, ignoring the tears that slid down her pale cheeks. “You hurt him and I will rip out your spine and beat you over the head with it. Understood?” she asked him sweetly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“None of this ma’am shit. I’m never gonna be old enough for ma’am. Your Ma calls me Sash. You do that same, okay? I’m so happy to finally meet you, Jamie.”

“It’s Bucky, ma-a, _Sash_.”

“‘Course it is, baby.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders again, and pulled him in close. Pressing her lips against his ear, she said, “He’s gonna need someone to help him get through some bad shit soon. I’m glad it’s you.” Then she pressed a kiss against his temple, and squeezed him surprisingly tight. “You two need to take care of each other.”

“I will,” Bucky breathed back at her, meaning it with all his heart in that moment. He felt her squeeze him one more time, and then her hold eased up, and it seemed like she might finally let him go.

“Good.” Then she brusquely released him and turned to Steve. “Well, go on. Pack an overnight bag.”

“What?” Steve asked, dumbfounded.

“Well, I assume you two are gonna go out on a date tonight, right?” She rounded on Bucky for confirmation, and he just gaped for a second before nodding enthusiastically. They hadn’t talked dating, or fake dating, or whatever, but it made sense. And Sarah – Sash – expected it, so sure. He tried to ignore the flutters in his stomach as he thought about taking Steve to a nice restaurant and showing him off to the world. About maybe playing footsie under the table, holding hands over candlelight … 

But they hadn’t talked about it, and now Steve looked like he wanted to make a run for it.

“We were just gonna do something casual tonight,” Bucky said suddenly, watching Steve carefully. He glanced up at him in surprise and then his expression melted into something like gratitude.

“But I don’t need an overnight bag, Ma. It’s not like we’re gonna, I mean, we just started –“

“’S’not a bad idea. In case we fall asleep watchin’ a movie. After dinner.”

Steve drew in a slow, calming breath, and nodded once. “Yeah, sure. But, Ma –“

“I’ll stay over, Steve,” Bucky’s Ma volunteered, stepping over to lay her hand gently on Bucky’s forearm. “Have a nice evening together, boys. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you found each other.” There was giddy excitement in her voice, but her eyes carried such gravity, such profound seriousness, Bucky was left breathless for a moment. He didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t grasp why Sash and Ma were suddenly so invested in him and Steve being together when neither of them had ever bothered to introduce them all these years. For fuck’s sake, Bucky was nearly 34 already, and his Ma and Sash had been best friends since long before either he or Steve had even been born.

He was gonna have to ask his sisters if they knew Steve. Becca was nearly 10 years older than him, and Chrissy was six years older. Maybe they could clue Bucky in on how he’d never met Ma’s best friend, and never met her son, the cutest fucking guy on the planet.

“So that’s it?” the black guy with the neat goatee suddenly asked, pushing off from the wall where he and Clint had been muttering between them.

“That’s what?” Bucky asked, turning to face him. He felt his Ma’s hand tighten on his forearm, as though warning him to stand down.

“You guys are a thing now?”

“Been leadin’ up to it,” Steve answered, his voice clear and confident. “It’s all new, but yeah. I kinda hope so,” he added, casting a glance at Bucky, and Bucky felt an invisible pull draw him over to take Steve’s hand in his. He was vaguely aware of his Ma and Sash both squeaking with delight, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he could see them hugging each other tightly.

Weird.

“Just so you’re sure.”

“Who can be sure when you’re just starting out in a relationship?” Bucky said, his eyes roaming Steve’s face for a cue on how he felt about this guy and his aggressive posture.

“I for one will be happy when I don’t have to look at your sappy, lovesick face for a while, Barnes. I’m outie, got a hot date with Nat. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, but if you do, don’t forget protection. C’mon, Wilson, let’s go collect Nat and Riley and we can double-date at the Chuck E. Cheese.”

As the Trouble Twins bickered between them, as Steve and his Ma’s did their weird tribal Mom dance, Steve squeezed his hand and whispered, “Thank you.”

“Get your stuff. You’re bunkin’ in with me tonight. You’ll have your choice of guest rooms,” he added, pressing his lips to Steve’s ear so only Steve could hear him. He felt Steve sag against him, tension suddenly draining.

“We can do this,” Steve whispered back for Bucky alone.

God help him, they were committed. And Bucky didn’t know if his heart was going to survive the adventure. But he couldn’t wait to get started.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, really need to return to Threads for a chapter or two. Ms. Potts is demanding her voice be heard, so don't fret if you don't see an update here for a few days. Come visit some of my other WIPs. I promise I am working on all of them, and none of them will be left incomplete.
> 
> And yeah. Comments? Please?


	7. Length by Width by Height

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... fake dating means fake dates, right?
> 
> But, there's no law that says a fake date can't be fun, right?
> 
> And just 'cos it's fake doesn't mean you can't enjoy it, right?
> 
> And just because you've given yourself the label "fake," doesn't mean you can't have real feelings.
> 
> Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So have an evening of two idiot boys getting to know each other, and finding that being around each other is as easy as anything they've ever done. Taking their fake relationship out for a test drive proves they can sell it to the outside world. And in the meantime, they can have some fun together.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. This is unmitigated fluff, really.

“How d’you feel about Italian?” 

“Anyone in particular?”

“Very not funny. Food, asshat.”

“Italian _food_. Ah. I have a very good relationship with Italian food. You might even say I love it. And sometimes, it loves me back. Is this confession time? Do you get to tell me about one of your amorous relationships now?”

Bucky fell silent, and the playful banter that had felt so comfortable, so welcoming, so _real_ , skidded to an awkward and tense halt. Nice going, ass _hole_. This was why Steve didn’t have relationships. He had an overly intimate relationship between his mouth and his fucking foot. There wasn’t room for anyone else in that duo.

“ _Cuchina Mia_ it is, then,” Bucky answered simply, settling back into the cramped taxi seat and rapping on the divider. The driver slid open the little window and Bucky rattled off the address of a restaurant, and the driver waved at him to indicate he had it. Then they settled into a silence that spoke volumes of the line Steve had crossed.

After a few blocks of slow-moving, grumpy traffic, Steve leaned over and knocked his shoulder against Bucky’s right arm. “I’m sorry. Dumb boy asks dumb question. News at eleven.”

Bucky snorted in reply, half-covering his face with his hand. Steve started to lay it on a little thicker, simpering for Bucky and ostentatiously laying his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He caught the smirk that just refused to slide off Bucky’s face, and counted it as a win when Bucky couldn’t hold in the huff of a laugh. “You’re a fuckin’ dork.”

“And your point would be?” Steve asked with a grin as he settled in a little more comfortably against the crook of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, enjoying the feeling of nearness, the heat of a friendly warm body. It may not be real, it may only be temporary, but it still felt nice. And Steve was good at make believe. 

“Point taken,” Bucky chuckled, shifting a little so that the hollow where Steve’s head rested was more comfortable, more welcoming. They fit together so nicely …

“But seriously … it must be difficult. I mean –“

“Yeah. It is. We live in a world of instant gratification. I don’t work that way. I’m a long-term investment where everybody wants quick hit.”

Steve bit back the words that wanted to tumble out of his idiot mouth _. I’d invest in you. I’d take the long-term over the quick hit. I’m with you –_

“Y’ever meet my sisters?” Bucky asked suddenly, and Steve could feel him tense up a little with the question.

“Um, no. I’ve heard of them – two of ‘em, right? Becca and, uh –“

“Chrissy. Becca’s a pediatrician up in Mt. Kisco, Chrissy teaches high school chemistry over in Emerson.”

“New Jersey?”

“’Fraid so.”

“So your sisters got all the smarts in the family, then.”

“Still got enough to take you down a peg or two, Rogers.”

“Like to see you try.”

And Steve hadn’t meant for that to come out as heated, as loaded with innuendo as it did, but at the sight of Bucky turning his face to look down at him, his eyes dark and pupils widened, he didn’t have the fucks to give to regret the slip.

“Anyway,” Bucky cleared his throat, and Steve was kinda gratified to see him visibly struggle for control, “did you ever meet them?”

“Nah. They’re a lot older than we are, right?” Bucky nodded, explaining the relative ages of his sisters. “So yeah, they wouldna hung out at mine when I was little. And then, you know, Germany. So, no.”

“Huh. You from a family of wizards or something? Some ancient cult that needs to stay secret?”

“Pretty sure I’m not. Y’know, I could say the same of you – I’ve known your Ma – I call her Fred – all my life. Never knew you existed until I started seein’ your movies, and the press said you were from Brooklyn. I asked Fred if she knew you, and she said you were her son. Never volunteered to introduce us, though.”

“It is weird, though, right? Us never knowing about the other, and our Moms are so tight.”

“Maybe they’re afraid we get together, and we’re gonna like cause the universe to explode or something. Or trigger some wild global civil war – we’re really princes of these warring ancient cultures, and if we get together, we fulfill some crazy prophecy about the end of the world. Or, maybe we’re those weird twins in the comics, the ones who shove their rings together and do something … or other,” he tailed off.

“You sure got an imagination on you, Rogers.”

“When you’ve got a good imagination, you’re never alone.”

“Where’d you read that?”

“Ma told me. I always believed her. And she was right. I never felt alone, even when it was just me lookin’ out a window at the world goin’ by. I had all the stories of all the people I could see, and the lives they lived when they left the park and went home. And all their families.”

“Okay fellas. End of the line,” the cab driver called out. Steve reluctantly disentangled himself from where he was comfortably sprawling against Bucky, and after a little whispered arguing, Bucky paid the cabdriver and they got out in front of the utterly unpretentious and thoroughly homey looking _Cuchina Mia_.

“C’mon,” Bucky said, threading his fingers through Steve’s and dragging him into the restaurant.

&&&

Steve wasn’t kidding when he said he had a love for Italian food. Mozzarella caprese with thick balsamic glaze, a hearty, fragrant minestrone, followed by a chicken piccata over fettucine that made him scrunch up his face like a pissy little kid over the tartness before he dove in and practically inhaled it, several slabs of homemade bread slathered in butter, and now he was eying the chocolate chip cannoli like he was going to fellate the damned thing. All washed down with a nice moscato.

“Where the fuck do you put it all?” Bucky breathed, leaning back in his chair and surreptitiously undoing the top button of his jeans. Deftly, he tugged his shirt out a little so it bloused over the open button.

“Fast metabolism. One of the enhancements from the treatments. I run hot, and I burn calories a lot faster than normal people. Means I eat a lot, and I eat frequently. Sorry, if you were expecting a cheap date, bud,” he answered with a grin. “I know I got the bigger half of the bill to pay.”

“How’d you get through the shoot, then? We worked for hours without a break!”

“Planned for it. Different kinds of carbs to break down slower. Lots of protein. It’s weird, ‘cos when I was small and sickly, I didn’t eat much. Nothin’ tasted good, all the meds fucked with my taste buds. I ate because I had to, never because I wanted to. This happened, and I can’t get enough – literally. And everything tastes fuckin’ awesome. I mean, I literally could eat every minute for the rest of my life, and I don’t think I’d ever get tired of it.”

“You’re really weird, y’know that?”

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cos you’re jealous. I can eat anything I want and still look like this,” he waved his hands to indicate his revoltingly sleek and maddeningly attractive body, “and you what? Have to count calories and spend ten thousand hours in the gym so you don’t look like you’ve got an ounce of body fat on screen?”

“You’re a real shit, Rogers! And it’s twenty thousand. Twenty thousand fucking hours before I go in front of the cameras. It’s the one thing I really hate about the job.”

“That and the soul destroying press tours.”

“It’s not all bad. I get to go to some interesting places, sometimes the people are interesting, too. It’s cool to see the fans come out. And some of the pomp and circumstance around the premieres is just laugh out loud funny. But the focus on my personal life, on who I’m fucking and who’s heart I’ve broken … yeah, that’s the part that sucks the life out of me.”

Steve stretched his hand across the table and laid it gently over Bucky’s flesh hand, his thumb pressing against his flesh reassuringly. “Well, we’ll fix it this time, huh? I guess we should start getting our story straight. God knows, Ma is gonna grill us once the shine wears off on her freak out.”

“I don’t think we have to make anything up, do you? I mean, the truth is actually pretty cool all on its own,” Bucky answered, shifting his hand to pull Steve’s palm to rest over his, enjoying the feel of warm skin, lightly calloused, the pulse beat thumping against his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he found the feel of another person’s skin against his to be reassuring. Or welcome. He closed his hand around Steve’s. 

Steve smiled, his eyes cast down toward his plate where a dollop of cheese had fallen out of his cannoli. He swept it up on his finger and sucked it off with a groan. “God, I think I need another,” he moaned, throwing his head back.

Bucky stared at him with a mouth gone dustbowl dry, the air knocked right out of his lungs as he stared at Steve Rogers in the midst of a food orgasm. “Mama?” he squeaked, not taking his eyes off Steve, not releasing his hand. “We’ll have another order of cannoli, please.”

Steve straightened and opened his eyes, grinning broadly. “You spoil me,” he teased.

Bucky didn’t have the breath to answer, so he just grinned and nodded.

&&&

Mama loved Steve. She loved the way he ordered dish after dish, the noises he made when he ate and the way he cleaned up every dish put in front of him. She loved his enthusiasm and his snarky sense of humor, and the way his blue eyes danced with deviltry. She loved the way he towered over her, able to rest his elbow on the crown of her head without bending. When he got up to go to the bathroom, she sidled over and put her arms around Bucky’s shoulders, and gave ‘em a big old squeeze.

“You keep that one, eh? He’s a good boy. He’ll be good to you. When the time comes, you let me cater the wedding. I’ll make him a wedding cake with a cannoli ring around it. You two won’t come out of the honeymoon suite for a month.” She grabbed his chin and squeezed, then bent slightly so she could kiss his forehead. “About time you had some happiness.”

“ _Mama_ ,” Bucky started, but he spied Steve coming out of the bathroom, his face alight with a very pleased grin. Bucky felt his stomach do that lurchy thing it had suddenly started doing ever since he met Steve Rogers. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything. Like a case of the loves. That would be really inconvenient, especially when he was pretty sure there was no cure. “Yeah,” he breathed, not really sure what he was agreeing with. 

She patted him on the cheek, then turned to catch Steve before he got back to the table. She said something to him, too, then patted one cheek while she kissed the other. Steve glanced over at Bucky, his expression unreadable. Suddenly Bucky was worried. Were they too convincing?

But whatever was going on with Steve passed, and he rejoined him at the table with that big grin firmly in place. “We got the check? She split it for us?”

“I’ll get this. You get the next one. Which will probably be breakfast, ‘cos I just realized I don’t have anything in the house other than coffee and some indeterminate ingredients.”

“Mmmm. Sunday brunch. Mimosas?”

“How very ‘80s of you.”

“Bite me. You know that Simon leBon had nothing on me even at his prettiest.”

 _No one does now, either,_ Bucky found himself thinking dreamily, then shook himself. “Should we invite the parental units?”

“Ma and your Ma?” Steve let out a low whistle. “I dunno, is that too much? Too soon? I mean, we’ve only been fake dating for less than a day,” he mouthed “fake dating” and gave Bucky a big, over the top wink. “Is it really time to fake-meet the parents?” he grinned the adorable shit-eating grin that Bucky was fast becoming addicted to. He balled up his napkin and lobbed it right at said shit-eating grin.

“Score. Already met them, it’s already fuckin’ weird. I dunno – y’think they’d expect that?”

“I think Ma will want all the deets on how we’ve consummated our relationship. So if you don’t want to share the intimate blow by blow by blowjob of our first night of wild passion with my Ma, I’m thinkin’ … nah. Let’s save the humiliation for later.”

“She wouldn’t really.”

“Oh yeah. She would. Quizzed me on condom basics, positions, gave me pointers on what a lady likes down there,” he pointed miserably toward his own groin. “Put me off sex for months. Every time Peggy and I tried to do anything, all I could hear was my Ma’s voice coaching me on the most pleasurable way to eat a woman out. I practically needed therapy.”

“Is that why you … why you and she didn’t work?”

“Nah. Nah, we didn’t work because I realized that I loved her, but I didn’t love her _that_ way. Not enough, anyway. It wasn’t fair to keep her in a relationship if she could find someone who could love her the way she deserved.”

“And did she?”

“Yeah. Yeah, Daniel’s crazy about her, he’s good to her, and she’s nuts about him. Just had a baby – Angela. Angie for short. I’m godfather.”

“And you’re okay with that.”

“Actually, yeah, I am. I’d rather she be happy with somebody else than just … just holding on with me. And y’know, maybe someday, maybe I do find somebody who fits me like she and Daniel fit each other.”

“Yeah, maybe. There’s gotta be a loser out there who can put up with your sorry ass,” Bucky teased, watching Steve carefully to make sure he hadn’t cross a line.

Steve just stuck his tongue out at him because Mama came over with another plate with a pile of chocolate chip cannoli, dusted with confectioner’s sugar, all arranged on top of a decorative paper doily. His eyes widened comically as his tongue dragged theatrically across his lower lip. “Doesn’t matter. Who needs a loser when I can have cannoli?”

“Are you sharin’?”

“Don’t come between a man and his cannoli, Barnes.” He picked one up and turned sideways, tonguing the spill of ricotta and chocolate, then slid it into his mouth and hollowed out his cheeks like he was going down on it. He cracked an eye open to see if his performance got any kind of rise out of Bucky, but Bucky had already schooled his features to indifference and was playing on his phone. 

“Seriously? Nothin’?”

“You’re not a great thespian like I am. You telegraphed that move way ahead of time,” Bucky smirked. Then he reached across and snatched one of the cannoli away, and shoved it whole into his mouth, crunching down on the sweet outer shell, feeling the creamy sweet cheese squish around his mouth, the bits of chocolate play sweet and rich across his tongue. His cheeks bulged out with the full load of the cannoli.

Steve looked at him and grinned, then shoved his cannoli into his mouth as well. 

&&&

They ended up back at Bucky’s apartment, both of them drowsy and sated from too much good food, a lot of great wine, a doggie bag of cannoli in hand. Bucky grabbed Steve’s overnight bag and dragged him down the hall so he could pick his guest room – Bucky had three – and showed him where the bathroom was, then introduced him to the kitchen, Keurig, and fridge.

“Brunch tomorrow, though, right?” Steve asked dreamily, poking at the K-cup tree and watching it spin.

“You’re never satisfied, are you?”

“I’m always hungry, it’s true. Right now, though … right now I think I’m okay.”

Bucky smiled at him indulgently, stowed the cannoli in the fridge, grabbed a water bottle and shoved it in Steve’s hand. As Steve opened the bottle and took a long pull, Bucky told Steve to make himself at home. Then he wandered back to his own room to change into comfy sleep pants and a t-shirt. He stopped in his en suite and brushed his teeth, did a little scrub on this face to get the grime of the city off, and considered his hair critically.

“Fuck, it’s not like this is a real date,” he grumbled to himself.

And yet, spending time with Steve was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Easier, even, than Clint or Tony. It was like they’d been friends all their lives, yet still had all kinds of mysteries to learn about each other. Both familiar and tantalizingly exotic. He wanted to get to know everything there was to know about Steve Rogers – the things that made him happy, the things that made him laugh. Even the things he feared, the things he worried about, the things he hoped for. And for the first time ever, Bucky wanted to open himself to someone else. To show the person he was on the inside. He’d never felt that before, never wanted to expose the truth of himself to someone before. Never felt the need. Certainly never felt the trust.

Was he falling for Steve Rogers?

Was this what it felt like?

He’d always felt like he was standing outside a building, looking into a warm, inviting space, but through a frosted window where he could only see the vaguest of outlines, hints of color and movement. Hearing words in a language he didn’t understand, music that fell in a register he couldn’t hear. People falling in love, people falling in lust. He could mimic the actions, school his face and his body language to mirror the expression and movements of people he understood to be in love, to be attracted. He could be convincing, on screen and off. But he’d never felt it himself, never found that truth within to know that a person was special to him as anything other than a family member, or a friend.

And yet, Steve. He wanted to spend all his time with Steve. He wanted to touch, and be touched. He wanted to kiss, and to lick, and … things he’d experienced with others, but had no real context for before. He’d tried to fit in. It had left him feeling hollow and cold. Now …

But they weren’t real. They were playing a part. For an undefined period, sure. As long as his Ma was alive. And he really, truly, hoped that Sash lived a long and happy life, whether he and Steve stayed together or not. But, they were spending time together, they were learning about each other, they were enjoying each other’s company, and they were having fun.

Did it matter what the label was?

As he heard Steve moving around his apartment, he decided that maybe it didn’t. Maybe having this chance to get to know each other, without the pressures of a real relationship, without the expectations of an actual courtship, maybe that was a good thing for them both. When they were alone together, they could just be, and let things lead where they would. And when they were in public, they’d get to touch, to play at being more, and maybe they’d find they liked it enough to let it bleed into their private time.

He could do this.

He wanted to do this.

He would – what the fuck?

He could suddenly hear music coming from the living room. Well, apparently Steve took it to heart when someone said make yourself at home. But …

 _Gilmore Girls_?

With one more glance at himself in the mirror, he decided he was presentable without trying too hard, and came back out into the living room, where he found Steve slumped down on the couch, clad in pajama bottoms and a tank top, sucking down water from his half-empty bottle, the opening scenes of the first ever episode of _Gilmore Girls_ playing on his 65 inch OLED TV.

“A guy’s Netflix queue reveals everything you need to know about a person,” Steve announced as he twisted around to prop his chin on the back of the couch, watching Bucky come into the room.

“And what does my queue tell you about me?”

“That you’re a world class nerd with excellent taste in vintage TV.”

“ _Gilmore Girls_ tells you that?”

“Baby Jared Padalecki. With a funny accent. We’ll have to watch the latest episode of _Supernatural_ next to see how he’s beefed out.”

“Team Dean or Team Jess?”

“Team Logan. I like men who know what they want. Although Logan’s Dad is a douche of the first order.”

Bucky went back into the kitchen and snagged a couple more bottles of water, then moved to the armrest of the couch and just let himself tumble over the edge to land in a disorganized heap of limbs next to Steve. He tossed him a fresh bottle, and Steve caught it easily. He scrunched up his empty bottle and set it on the coffee table, nodding a thanks to Bucky.

“Eh, Logan’s too sure of himself. Too privileged. Jess is too convinced he’s broken. And Dean? Dean suffered from bad writing. I was always on Team Dean until they did the whole married cheater storyline.”

“So who’s that leave?”

“Team Doyle.”

“No way. Paris’s boyfriend?”

“Dude, Danny Strong is a power broker in Hollywood. Coupla Emmys under his belt, hit movies, TV shows –“

“He was one of the terrible trio on _Buffy_! No way –“

“Steve, I would love to do a film or TV show written by Danny Strong. It’s a fuckin’ career goal. And Doyle always knew what he wanted, he never shat on anybody to get it, he was confident, he was capable, and he was loyal – that’s a whole lot of sexy in my book.”

“So you’re not lookin’ for a bad boy?”

“Not a bad boy, not a broken boy, not an angsty boy. Why, y’got somebody in mind?”

“I usually lose out to the bad boys is all. Guys I like, they want the boy with the tat and metal, guyliner and motorcycle. Scars on the outside. I don’t have time to be a bad boy. Got too much to do.”

“All that shit’s window dressin’.” Bucky extended the index finger on his flesh hand and touched it to Steve’s chest. “What’s important is what’s in here. Tats fade, and metal starts to hurt when things start sagging. Guyliner smears. A motorcycles? Yeah, they are never not sexy. I’ll give you that. But a bad boy makes a bad companion after a while. And a companion, somebody to share the journey with … well, for somebody like me, that’s more important than all that other crap.”

“Good to know,” Steve said softly. They were sitting very close together on the couch now, slumped down and practically leaning against each other. “So you’d really choose Doyle over Jess?”

“Every time.”

Steve huffed a small chuckle and smiled. “See, I told you a man’s Netflix queue revealed a lot about him. Now, can you explain how come you’ve got _My Babysitter’s a Vampire_ in there?” 

“I am changing my password and blocking you from my queue, asshole. Now shut up and listen to Lorelei.”

The rest of the evening was spent watching and dissecting – and often dissenting – the goings on in Stars Hollow and the pros and cons of various suitors for the Loreleis. Bucky got up and made popcorn at one point, and then Steve went and made more after he polished off the first batch. They stayed up way later than either had planned, enjoying the camaraderie, the ease, of just hanging out together with no demands on their time. Steve checked in with Bucky’s Ma to confirm his own Ma was doing okay – Sash was already asleep, but Bucky’s Ma was reading in bed. When she started to grill Steve about their date, he put her on speaker phone until Bucky got so embarrassed by the questions he just shouted, “G’night Ma!” and closed the call.

They kept saying they should go to bed, but there was always the lure of one more episode, one more chance to get caught up in the rapid fire dialogue of the Gilmores, the absurd denizens of Stars Hollow, the fantastical world of the new millennium. So it shouldn’t have surprised either of them that they ended up falling asleep on the couch, Steve leaning into Bucky, his arms around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky’s prosthetic arm around Steve’s shoulders. Bucky was dimly aware of Steve snuggling into his side, murmuring, “I’m glad I met you, Bucky Barnes,” before his breathing evened out to a faint snore. 

Bucky smiled to himself and leaned down to drop a light kiss on Steve’s hair. “Me, too,” he thought. “Me, too.”

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I don't really know where the idea of the boys bonding over Gilmore Girls came from, but i suddenly had a jones to start watching the show over from the beginning after I started writing this chapter.
> 
> And yeah, Danny Strong is totally awesome. You should look at his credits on IMDB. For someone who started out as a throwaway character on Buffy, he's built an impressive career. It's a shame Joss Whedon is no longer involved in the MCU - I'd've loved to have seen him come up with a good character for Danny to play in the MCU. I might just have to create an OC for him. :)
> 
> So, definitely a fluffy chapter, full of silly boys being silly. Let me know what you think ...


	8. Foundation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone mention happy fluff?
> 
> And inconvenient boners?
> 
> And silliness by the boatload? Buttload? Whatever ... :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some more ridiculous fluff. I'm having a blast writing this, and I am really enjoying these two. I hope you are too!

Bucky woke gradually, becoming first aware of the crick in his neck, the cool wet spot on his abdomen, and the radiating warmth wrapped around his waist and pressed against his thigh.

A body. A warm body pressed up against him, holding him, and … he was holding back. His prosthetic arm was wrapped around a broad expanse of shoulders, flesh and muscle and bone warm and yielding under his metal hand. The stump and his opposing shoulder, however, were screaming a duet of displeasure at having been left in the harness and prosthetic overnight. He could feel the tenderness in the skin of the stump, the chafe where the harness had pressed into skin for too long a period. He was going to have to get the arm off and apply some cream to the fragile skin.

Or … maybe he could ask Steve to help. He tested the idea and found that it didn’t fill him with dread the way being touched by someone else usually did. Oh, he could do it. When he was working on a scene, he played a part – that never bothered him because he could separate himself from what was happening, and treat his body like a prop, like a chair or a book on set. And in the times when he’d tried for intimacy with others … well, he mostly checked out, if he was honest with himself. A part of him wanted intimacy, wanted closeness, but the sex part? Skin on skin? He knew that survival of the species relied on the sharing of body fluids, but that had always been something he really didn’t want to think about, and looked forward to actually doing even less.

But … maybe not.

Maybe, maybe it was something he could do, could _want_ to do, with the right person.

And why was it he kept thinking that Steve could be that right person?

He looked down at Steve and smiled to himself. His hair looked like it had been through a blender, golden tufts sticking up in all directions, matted down by sweat and pressure in others. His mouth hung open, with a thick strand of drool hanging down to pool and cool on Bucky’s abdomen – he had a drool stain a couple of inches across, and frankly, it felt really, really gross. Almost as bad as cum dried on his skin. But Steve’s arms felt like home wrapped around Bucky’s waist, and the heat of Steve’s body pressed against his felt like a promise.

And goofy, and drooly, and fuzzy as he looked, Bucky found him utterly charming and adorable.

Yeah. He was definitely going to ask Steve to help out with lotion for his chafed skin. It was the least he could do for using him as a drool bucket.

And yeah, he was definitely coming down with a case of the loves. If not the loves, then the infatuateds. It was so weird and yet so enthralling – the giddy sense of possibility, the fluttery, gurgling, flipping sensation in his stomach, like he was about to plummet hundreds of feet down on the biggest roller coaster in the world … he’d never felt like this for anyone. Except that brief moment in high school, but even then, he hadn’t felt like he did right now.

He wanted to wake up to Steve’s ridiculous bedhead every day. He wanted to hold him in his arms and be held by him every night.

He wanted.

That was entirely new and different. And dangerous. Too much, too soon. Way too soon.

But as Sleeping Ugly snorted suddenly, swatting his own face with the back of his hand and scrunching his eyes up in the most ridiculously cute way, Bucky acknowledged that it may be too soon. But it was also too late.

“Huh?”

“What?”

“D’we sleep onna couch all night?” 

“Yeah. And you drooled all over me.”

“Well, duh. I mean, have you seen you? Millions of men and women drool for you every day. I feel honored I got to drool _on_ you.”

“You’re disgusting,” Bucky laughed as Steve pulled his arms away from Bucky’s midsection – leaving him feeling cold and adrift, like his anchor had been cut away – and lifted them over his head, stretching mightily. The ripple of muscle, the stretch and play of soft, golden skin over them was … beautiful. Enthralling. Arousing? Bucky frowned as he realized that once again, he felt a little twitch of interest down below. Just a twitch, nothing embarrassing – _yet_. But as Steve let his arms drop from his stretch to Bucky’s shoulders, circling them and pulling him close, Bucky’s brain sort of short-circuited. 

“Kiss me,” Steve demanded in a theatrical voice, letting his morning breath waft over Bucky’s face.

“You asshole,” Bucky swore, wrinkling his nose at said morning breath, and pushed Steve so he fell backward into the cushions, giggling.

“C’mon, we’re fake boyfriends! Don’t you wanna fake kiss me?”

“Not with your real morning breath. I think all that ricotta you scarfed down last night went off in there,” Bucky retorted, drawing himself up so he was balanced on one knee on the sofa, the other foot on the floor, towering over Steve who was still wriggling around on the sofa cushions. Bucky paused, just looking at him, and Steve’s face suddenly grew serious, the giggle fit dying off as he looked up at Bucky expectantly.

And that’s when Bucky pounced, digging his fingers into Steve’s sides to make him yelp and writhe and screech and laugh. “No, no! Buck, no! No tickling, no!”

“I must exact my revenge upon you, you drooling maniac!” Bucky cried as he redoubled his attack on the flailing, giggling wall of muscle beneath him.

He and Steve wrestled and grappled, each trying to get or keep the upper hand as Steve attempted to get his fingers into Bucky’s sides to tickle him back. Finally, the couch proved too small to hold them, and they tumbled off, slamming down on the floor. Bucky landed on his left side, and cried out as the pain lanced up his stump and into his shoulders.

Steve scrambled to kneel next to Bucky, who was cradling the arm gingerly and wincing with the pain. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, Buck – what can I do?”

“Help me get the arm off,” Bucky replied automatically, not realizing in that moment that he’d handed Steve his trust in a way he’d never done before. Steve nodded and helped Bucky pull off his t-shirt, then he set about undoing the snaps on the harness until he could gently lift the prosthetic away.

“Ah, shit, your skin’s a mess,” Steve observed, reaching out to touch the reddened flesh around the bottom of the stump, and the beginnings of a pressure sore under where the harness had been.

“Shouldn’t’a left the arm on all night. Skin needs to breathe sometime, and the arm needs to charge.” Bucky started to shift in order to stand up, and realized that without the arm, he was off-balance. Steve seemed to instinctively know what he needed as he bounded up and thrust out his hand and arm for Bucky to grab hold of with his right arm. Bucky felt the surge of power as Steve hauled him to his feet, barely catching himself before he crashed into Steve’s chest. Not that he would have minded. It was a very nice chest. Smooth, warm, practically hairless, plush and … _Jesus_! The throb in his left arm, in the stump, brought him out of his lust-fueled reverie. And that was a phrase Bucky thought he’d be thinking about himself _never_.

“Y’got cream I can put on it – you’ll never be able to reach that spot on your back –“

“Yeah. Yeah, I appreciate it. But first I should shower,” he said, and glanced down at his naked torso and the shining wet smear on his abs. “I gotta wash off your fuckin’ drool, man.”

“Oh, I’ll have you know that’s grade A prime drool,” Steve countered with a chuckle. Bucky smiled back, and then Steve’s features grew serious again. “So, does it hurt?”

“Right now, yeah. I shoulda thought of it last night, but I was just –“

“Havin’ fun in Stars Hollow. I know. The Loreleis are mesmerizing. Abandon all rational thought when the Gilmore Girls are in da house.”

“You are a freak,” Bucky observed, mentally trying to urge himself to walk away, get in the shower, get the slimy drooly mess off his skin, and let the hot water work its magic on his fucked up shoulder and arm muscles.

“Yeah. Was that meant to be an insult, because I am _proud_ of my freakishness. You cannot insult me over something I am proud to be. I let my freak flag fly, baby –“

“Yeah, goin’ t’get that shower now. You can fly your flag all you like while I’m removing all evidence of your night of drool. Just don’t scare the neighbors. My HOA fees go up if the straights are weirded out.”

“I was going to do a nude flamenco while you showered, but I guess those plans are scotched. Hey, um … brunch? Can we?”

Bucky stopped and chuckled, turning back to look at Steve who was blushing as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hungry?”

“Kinda starving. I could eat the rest of my cannoli –“

“ _Our_ cannoli –“

“Joint custody, cool. What a couple-y thing to do. But anyway … food? Coffee?”

“Keurig’s in the kitchen, remember? Help yourself to whatever on the carousel. As for brunch, you should probably shower too, right? And do you mind if we go somewhere public today?”

“We did last night –“

“Mama’s isn’t public. Yeah, _Cuchina Mia_ is a restaurant, but Mama’s not interested in publicity or claiming how many celebrities eat there. She values privacy, and she protects mine. Other people’s too. No, goin’ there was havin’ dinner with family. But I was thinking that maybe we could go to a more popular place, exclusive, but nowhere near as nice as Mama’s, honestly. But it’ll get us some attention, start the press thinking there’s somebody special in my life. Start setting the stage for the tour.”

“Oh. I didn’t bring any dress clothes.”

“That’s fine. I’m a celebrity, my SO can dress however he wants.” Bucky came back over to look at Steve critically. “You have a ball cap, right? Wear that. We don’t want the paps to get a good look at you. Not today. No, we don’t want them to find out who you are. You’re the mystery man in my life. A little shy, enigmatic. Gorgeous, but not a celebrity in your own right. Yeah, that works. So, guest bathroom has a great walk-in shower – get your coffee and then go get ready. And I’m gonna go wash off all this fuckin’ drool. So much drool. Does your mother know how much you drool? I mean, you got a condition, son –“

“Ah, geeze, enough with the drool! At least I didn’t sneeze all over your dick!”

“Oh, God, tell me that didn’t really happen.”

“I wish. Dude had a head cold but he’d kept it hidden – way more cold medicine than was healthy, let me tell you. It was wearing off when he was, y’know, suckin’ me off. And he just … ugh,” Steve shuddered with the memory. “I don’t even wanna say. So, drool – not the worst thing that could happen!”

Bucky was overwhelmed with the sudden need to kiss Steve. Dorky, funny, gorgeous Steve. He compromised by kissing the tip of his nose. “We’ll make new memories. Memories that don’t involve mucus on your dick. But for now, get your coffee, take your shower, get ready so I can show you off and feed you.”

“Will you? Feed me, I mean. That’s one of my fantasies, y’know – hot guy hand feeding me delicious foods. It’s one for the spank bank, Bucky. Seriously. Please?” Steve crowded up against Bucky, and Bucky could see the dark expanding in Steve’s eyes.

“Depends. On how good for me you are,” Bucky replied, letting his voice fall into a dark and sensuous register. At least that’s what the director called it. And based on the widening of Steve’s eyes, the explosion of his iris so nothing was left of the blue of his eyes save for a disappearing edge, Steve found his voice to be sexy, too. And apparently pretty little Stevie had more than one interesting kink.

“I can be good,” Steve answered in a small, breathy voice. “I can be _very_ good, sir.”

“I … well, that’s something to discuss some other day, huh, Steve? Y’okay? Y’with me, buddy?” he asked, turning his head so he could look directly into Steve’s glazed eyes. “Okay?”

Steve shook his head like a retriever shaking off river water. “Fuck, yeah, sorry. I just really, really like your voice when you let it go all gravelly and shit. Yeah, I think you’re right – we got stuff we gotta talk through. Boundaries, all that stuff. So yeah, I’m gonna go take that shower now,” Steve announced nervously, and Bucky allowed himself a quick glance down to Steve’s crotch and the wood he was currently sporting.

Huh.

So Bucky could turn Steve on with just his voice.

Good to know.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so there will be a little bit more seriousness in the next chapter, as Steve gets his first taste of what it means to be Bucky Barnes's fake boyfriend. Nothing horrible, but the world outside the silly little bubble the boys created for themselves overnight is very different, especially when one of you is an A-List celebrity.
> 
> Let me know what you think! And I added this to another of my stories, Threads - please don't take the fact that I don't answer every comment as a lack of interest on my part. I envy writers who can write an intelligent, thought-provoking answer to every comment, while maintaining a high fiction output. I can't. I figure you'd rather have the story now, responses later. I answer when someone posts something that needs an answer, but otherwise, I revel in your comments, roll around in them, wrap myself up in them, and ward away the summer's heat in the cool balm of comments. :)


	9. Load Bearing Members

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Steve gets a little taste of what Bucky's life is like in the spotlight. And the Mas get to see their sons together on TV, and it's an unexpectedly emotional moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm approaching the end of I, Barnes, and I definitely needed a mental palate cleanser. I've loved working on I, Barnes, and after percolating for so long, it's really kind of hard for me to let it go. So I came back to play with these two lovable dorks. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!

When Steve came out of the guest suite, he was dressed in presentable jeans, neatly tied sneakers, and a pale blue button down shirt. His hair was neatly combed to one side, and his glasses sat squarely on his face. He looked good. He kinda looked like the college dude in Mystery Date, or maybe the surfer dude. Whatever, he looked _good_. Bucky felt a flicker of relief that he wasn’t going to have to do battle with the maitre d’ over Steve having brunch in board shorts, flip flops, and a t-shirt with paint stains on it.

Not that he minded either way – both were good looks for Steve.

And both looks kinda worked for Bucky in ways he was unaccustomed to feel.

Steve put his hands out as if to ask, “This’ll do?” and Bucky nodded, smiling.

“Okay, so the car’s coming round. Happy’ll take us to Virago for brunch – we have a reservation, and the host will put us at a secluded table that is in an eyeline for the paps.”

“Huh?”

“When I do press, I take the car. Happy picks us up a couple of blocks from here – I don’t let the press know where I live. But the car is more obvious, and sets the scene. An arrival,” Bucky gestured with a flourish of his right hand. “Virago is an upscale place where people go to be noticed. We’re going to walk in, the host will take us to a table in the back – it appears secluded, but if the paparazzi make an effort, they can get a good shot of us from there. And trust me, they get one look at you getting out of the car, they are gonna want a good shot. So we just have to play at lovey-dovey while we’re there, snuggle on the way out to the car, and then we’re home free – we can both relax.”

“Uh-huh. So I’m gonna get my picture taken? Will it be in the newspaper?”

“Eh, maybe, maybe not. Definitely online celebrity blogs. Wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t end up on _TMZ_ , though.”

“Seriously? Ma watches that. She’ll have a fit!”

“Is that good or bad?”

“It’s not gonna get me out of trash duty, but it’ll make her happy.”

Bucky felt a wave of relief. Keeping Sash happy was important to him. He took a moment to shake his head at how important Sash and Steve both had become to him in the past what? Twenty-four hours? Had it even been that long?

Steve smiled slyly and sashayed up to him, reaching for his right hand. “So. Lovey-dovey, huh? Does that include public kissing? ‘Cos I like kissin’ you. Don’t mind it at all.”

“Um, yeah. You know – little touches, kisses, nothing more than PG, at least not now. Don’t want a scandal, just wanna set the scene that Bucky Barnes is off the market.”

“Off the market. Hmmm,” Steve smiled and stepped back again. “Okay. So, um, you gonna go like that?” he nodded toward Bucky’s figure.

“Huh?” 

Steve nodded again, this time directing his gaze to the empty space where Bucky’s left arm connected.

“Oh, shit. I forgot – we gotta leave to meet the car’s gonna soon, but –“  
  


“Car’s comin’ for you, right? You’re in charge, right? Tell ‘em we’ll be a little late. I still gotta put that cream on your skin. And, you know – why don’t you leave the arm behind?”

“Behind?”

“Yeah. Let me open doors for ya, and take care a’ya. Won’t that send a message, too?”

“Well, um,” Bucky paused, considering. Steve might to be on to something. Expressing a level of intimacy beyond the physical, where Bucky felt comfortable enough to leave the prosthetic behind, and Steve was his doting boyfriend who took care of him. Whom Bucky _allowed_ to take care of him.

And the thought of that opened a chasm so deep and aching in him that he suddenly felt breathless, dizzy on the precipice. He had to put his hand out to steady himself, and Steve stepped back into his space, a worried frown marring his beautiful features as he took hold of Bucky’s elbow with one hand, and his hip with the other. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you –“

“You didn’t. You, ah … yeah, I want that. You’re absolutely right, it sends a message. Yeah, let’s do that.”

“First, the cream, then we can go.”

&&&

Steve’s hands were deft and sure as he applied the antibiotic cream to the abrasions on Bucky’s stump and right shoulder blade. He worked the cream in, and then carefully applied bandages to keep the cream from rubbing off, or the fabric from exacerbating the sores. When he was satisfied with his work, he helped Bucky put his shirt back on.

“Thanks,” Bucky breathed, watching Steve’s face as he busied himself tidying up the supplies. “That’s not so easy with one hand.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Least I can do, since I distracted you from your normal routine.” He straightened the shoulder line of Bucky’s silk t, and then held up his jacket. “Y’want this, too, or somethin’ else? Ooh, scarf, maybe?”

“Nah, I think the jacket looks good. But, um, hmm,” he added, flexing the stump.

Steve smiled at him and helped him into the jacket, then rummaged in his pocket to pull out a few safety pins.

“Do I wanna ask?”

“I’m a klutz. Constantly rippin’ stuff. Always prepared to put myself back together,” he added with a grin, leaning in to pin up the jacket sleeve. His lips were only inches away from Bucky’s, so close that Bucky could feel the heat coming off his body. So close it was all Bucky could do not to close the distance and press his lips against Steve’s.

“There. You look sharp. Good enough to eat,” Steve added with a wink. “So how far is this _rendezvous_?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Hotel lobby a few blocks away. My presence there makes them happy, they let me use it as a drop.”

“Sounds very clandestine. I didn’t know this was going to be so much fun.” He touched a finger to Bucky’s hand. “So, are we in character on our way to the hotel, or just when we get to brunch?”

“Um, y’know, if you don’t mind, maybe we start now, get into character and stay there. Okay with you?”

“More than okay,” Steve agreed, and he closed the space between them to press his lips lightly against Bucky’s. It was just a moment, and Bucky had to fight back the urge to follow Steve’s lips when he pulled away. “Oh. We comin’ back here after, or should I bring my stuff? I’m gonna have to get home tonight, can’t leave Ma on her own too long.”

“My Ma’s with her –“

“Yes, but … wanna spend as much time with her as I can. Before, y’know, we’re on tour. I mean, I know we’re gonna have to spend time together to sell this to her, and to your public, but … I know I don’t have an unlimited supply a’time.”

“Yeah, no, I get that. We’ll head back to your place after we shake the paps. Happy’ll take us back to the hotel, and then we can slip out the back and head back here, then cab it back to your place. Sound like a plan?”

“Actually, it sounds like a _good_ plan, even. Let’s go, _boyfriend_.”

Jesus, Bucky wasn’t prepared for the flip his stomach did at the sound of that word coming out of Steve Rogers’s mouth describing him, even in jest.

_Boyfriend._

_Yes, please._

_Oh, God._

&&&

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rogers,” Happy Hogan greeted warmly, shaking Steve’s hand and gesturing toward the sleek white stretch limo. Bucky had explained that white stood out more than black, and attracted more attention.

“Steve, please,” the dude tried to correct Happy.

“Right. Mr. Rogers it is,” Happy agreed, deliberately ignoring Steve’s squawk as he opened the door to the back seat of the limo.

“No, I said call me Steve –“

Bucky crowded up behind Steve and gave him a gentle shove. “Give it up. Happy’s got this image in his head of what a chauffeur is supposed to look and sound like, and he refuses to listen to reason. I’ve been asking him to call me Bucky for years, and he just ignores me. ‘Mr. Barnes’ was my Dad.” 

Steve slid into the seat and Bucky followed, struggling a little to keep his balance with only his stump on his leading side, but it didn’t take much longer than normal to settle himself so Happy could close the door and walk around to the driver’s side, slipping in behind the wheel.

Lifting his chin to turn his face slightly toward the back seat, Happy informed them, “’Mr. Barnes’ is a sign of respect, Mr. Barnes. Unlike some of Mr. Stark’s other friends, I don’t have to peel you off the sidewalk, bring you clothes to do the walk of shame, take your one-night stands to their mother’s house, pay hush money to bloggers and police officers, or threaten any enterprising citizens with a phone and a social media account with mayhem if they don’t delete that photo or video they posted. _That_ , Mr. Barnes, deserves respect.”

“Wow. You’re officially boring,” Steve snickered.

“Thank God for small favors,” Happy said from the front seat, and shut the sliding door separating the driver’s section from the passenger section. Steve looked for a second, then burst out laughing. 

“Omigod, can I keep him? He is like, the most awesome of awesome I’ve seen so far. He like totally dissed you while pointing out all your great qualities!”

“Y’think I have great qualities?” Bucky asked, feeling a little excitement curling deep in his stomach. Steve thought he had great qualities. But Steve also called him officially boring.

“Are we on the clock?” Steve asked suddenly.

“Um, well, not really – this is privacy glass,” he rapped the window lightly. “No one can see in.”

“Oh,” Steve replied, and he sounded disappointed. 

“Why?”

“Well, I thought we could keep up the charade, y’know? A little necking, maybe I could suck a bruise into your clavicle,” he whispered suggestively, emphasizing each syllable of “clavicle” as he pressed up against Bucky’s left side, running his hand lightly down his chest.

“Hickey. Well, that would be eye-catching,” Bucky replied, trying to contain his excitement at the prospect.

“Yeah? Think so? I give good hickey. I’m good with my mouth,” Steve said blithely. “Where do you want it?” he asked, grasping Bucky’s chin and turning his face from side to side. “Where are they most likely to take your picture?”

“Um,” Bucky said helpfully.

“Yeah, y’know, I think I’ll just go with the flow – see what inspires me. How’s that sound?” Steve spoke against the skin of Bucky’s throat, nosing his way down toward Bucky’s collar, then back up again toward his ear. He let his tongue trace the line of his muscle, then kissed along the dip of Bucky’s collar bone. “Mmmm, here, I think,” Steve whispered, his breath igniting goose pimples all over Bucky’s body. Steve caught a bit of skin between his teeth, sucked it into his mouth, and Bucky dropped his head back against the headrest, holding back a moan as Steve worked him over.

Others had done this to him, but it had never felt like _this_.

“You’re awful tense,” Steve said, lifting his head. “Is this not okay?”

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky agreed, trying to hide the breathlessness he felt. “Just not used to it.”

“Somebody needs to show you how it’s done, Bucky Barnes. Someone needs to love you thoroughly.”

_Yeah, how about you?_ Bucky wanted to ask. Needed to ask. Was afraid to ask. So he just smiled encouragingly. “Think it’ll show up at a distance?”

Steve shifted back to survey his handiwork. “Nah. Needs to be bigger, darker. You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah, yeah, do your worst.”

“I love markin’ my men,” Steve chuckled, and dove back in. Bucky’s head thumped back against the headrest again, and his stump sort of flailed ineffectually, but mostly he contained the absolute thrill the sensation of Steve Rogers sucking on his neck inspired. 

Jesus, is this what puberty feels like to everyone else on the planet?

Steve drew away, and ran his thumb lightly over the wet spot on Bucky’s neck. “There. That’ll bloom nicely.”

“Bloom?”

“Bruises get darker for a while after you make ‘em. They kinda bloom, y’know? This should be good ‘n’ dark in no time. Photographers won’t miss it. And hey, it kinda looks like a koala!”

“You’re a fuckin’ dork,” Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, for today and the foreseeable future, I’m _your_ fuckin’ dork,” Steve announced, flopping back in the seat a few inches away from Bucky. Bucky already felt cold and alone now that Steve wasn’t touching him anywhere.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky replied, turning to glance out at traffic. They were stuck behind a snarl of taxi cabs, and probably would be late for their reservation. The better to make an entrance by. And that meant more alone time with Steve.

“So, maybe we should practice necking. Whaddya say?”

“I say practice makes perfect,” Steve grinned, and placed his hand on Bucky’s cheek, then gently leaned in and brushed his lips across Bucky’s. “Okay?” Bucky nodded. Steve smiled, and kissed him again.

&&&

Their arrival at Virago was nearly half an hour past their reservation, and the place was packed. More, the sidewalk outside was lined with photographers and fans, and as Happy pulled up to the curb, Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve on the cheek. “Ready to run the gauntlet?”

It was nuts outside the calm bubble of the car interior. “Shit, it really is crazy out there. You do this voluntarily?”

“I do this out of necessity,” Bucky answered ruefully. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t.”

Steve glanced back outside and swallowed. This is what he’d signed up for. He had no right to back out now. “Yeah, okay.”

“Just follow my lead,” Bucky said.

And then Happy was opening the door, and Bucky slid out, stood on the sidewalk, adjusted his sunglasses, and then reached into the car with his right hand extended to Steve. As hush fell over the crowd. This was something _new_ , and the crowd knew it.

This was Steve’s coming out. His debut. And he couldn’t afford to fuck it up. He owed it to Bucky not to fuck it up. He owed it to his Ma.

Steve tentatively placed his hand into Bucky’s, adjusted his glasses, tugged his ball cap down, and let himself be drawn out of the car. Suddenly the world was a series of klieg-lit staccato moments, the flashes of multiple professional cameras, camera phones, and little pocket cameras, all going off in rapid succession. Voices called for Bucky in a screeching cacophony, and he seemed to float toward one side and the things being shaken at him. Fans, looking for autographs. Pictures, stuffed animals, a half-exposed boob or two. Panicked, Steve glanced toward Happy, who just nodded toward the melee. So Steve moved toward Bucky and pressed his face against Bucky’s left shoulder, hands wrapped around Bucky’s shoulders, seeking comfort in his solidity as he tried to offer his.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd as they recognized the intimacy of Steve’s actions. He immediately regretted it, started to pull away, but Bucky’s hand closed over his, squeezed hard, and let go. Steve lifted his head so he could peer over Bucky’s shoulder, and he watched with interest as Bucky worked the crowd, all while being photographed from what seemed a thousand different vantage points.

Steve was vaguely aware of the questions hurled at Bucky, and the deft way he sidestepped them. He signed quickly, murmured thanks, begged off selfies, and everything seemed to be going great until one of the camera people, a self-assured white dude with a Bronx accent, reached for Bucky’s collar and inadvertently touched Steve’s face in the process.

Bucky’s right hand shot up and grabbed the guy’s wrist. From Steve’s position, he could see the way the skin turned red then white under the pressure of Bucky’s fingers. 

“Got a nice little hickey, there, Barnes. From your new boytoy?”

“My _boyfriend_ ,” Bucky said shortly, pushing the guy away. Happy was there, materialized from nothing, and he lent his presence to the festivities. Steve, in the meantime, felt like he was walking on air, catapulted into the stratosphere. Bucky Barnes called him his _boyfriend_. Like he fucking meant it. Didn’t matter if it was a pose, the way he felt right now. This moment was something he’d tuck away for a rainy day when he was feeling low, the moment Bucky Barnes called him his boyfriend.

“Mr. Barnes is already running late, and he has a reservation. If you will all excuse us, it’s time for Mr. Barnes and his companion to have their meal,” he said calmly, taking Bucky by the elbow, and wrapping an arm around Steve’s shoulders to shepherd them into the restaurant.

There was a chorus of “aw” and a few “Who’s the guy?” and “I love you, Bucky!” and “I’ll wait for you, Bucky!” but Happy propelled them into the restaurant with a practiced ease that would have been frightening if it weren’t meant to protect them both.

“You’ll be okay in here,” he told them, snapping his fingers to signal to the staff that they were ready to be seated. “Text me when you’re ready to go, and whether you want to go out the front or the back.”

“The back?” Steve repeated, confused.

“Yeah, if we wanna make a getaway and bypass the paps. After that, I don’t think they’d be surprised if we took an escape route.”

“There’s one in every crowd,” Happy observed sourly. “You gents okay?”

“Great. Thanks, Happy. Two hours or so?” Bucky asked with a smile.

“Yeah. I’ll swing by and visit my sister. Can’t take much more than two hours of her kids, so I might text you early to see if you can save me,” he added with a grin. “Have a nice lunch, boys.”

&&&

Lunch was nice. Surprisingly so. Apparently the owner had caught the performance out on the sidewalk, and decided to be especially solicitous toward Bucky, and by extension, Steve, to apologize for the indelicacy of the intrusion. Virago, of course, prided itself in protecting the privacy of its patrons.

All while the paparazzi were practically plastered to the big plate glass window.

Uh-huh.

But when Bucky checked the Twitterverse, he found a whole series of shots of him smiling and laughing as he signed autographs, with Steve wrapped around him like a fucking limpet. He showed some of the photos to Steve, who only groaned into his hand and shook his head.

“I didn’t know what to do. We didn’t rehearse that,” Steve complained.

“Shhh, keep your voice down. No, it’s good. It should look unrehearsed. It looks … well, it looks sweet.”

“I look like a fucking nutcase,” Steve groused, smiling up at the waiter who brought him the first of his mimosas. He licked his lips ostentatiously, then sipped delicately from the glass. “Ah. Worth it for this. I’ll die a happy little gay boy.”

“Not yet. Not done with you.”

“No? Can’t live without me, Bucky Barnes?” he challenged with a twinkle, holding up his glass. Bucky clinked his own drink, an unsweetened iced tea, against Steve’s.

“Gettin’ kinda used to you. Plus, your Ma did threaten me, y’know. Something about ripping my spine out if I hurt you.”

“Yeah, Ma has a colorful imagination. I don’t think she realizes her version of the ‘shovel talk’ has cost me more partners than it’s saved,” Steve agreed thoughtfully, chewing a piece of bacon.

Bucky reached over with his right hand and caught Steve’s fingers in his. “Well. It’s not gonna scare me away. I’ll raise your Ma with Happy. And my Ma.”

“Two against one? Hmm. My money’s still on my Ma. She’s a fuckin’ howling commando when it comes to protecting her first born.”

“I don’t wanna call in my sisters unless absolutely necessary. And God help us if I have to bring in Tony,” Bucky chuckled, tucking into his eggs benedict.

“Tony. You mentioned him a coupla times. What’s he to you?”

“Good friend. We met in Afghanistan, hit it off. Found out later just who he was – he liked the fact I liked him without knowing. Then he liked the fact that I knew and I didn’t give two fucks. Billionaire. Genius. Philantropist. Used to be a playboy. Now he’s in a committed relationship, and he’s a changed man. Or so he says. He’s sober a lot more. More productive, too. He made the arm for me. He’s putting it into production for vets as soon as it gets the okay from the FDA. I was a part of his clinical trial. But he actually invented the thing for me when I got myself blown up. He’s a bit crazy, but he’s loyal as fuck. When I got home, he asked me what I wanted to do, and I said something about being an actor. Turned out his Dad bought this studio back in the 1940s, and it’s just been running itself for a coupla decades. So Tony put it to work to find good properties for me. It was an honor to work with these people – they’ve been quietly putting out award-winners for years because Tony didn’t interfere.”

“Seriously. You have the most amazing luck.”

“Yeah, all’s I had to do was get my arm blown off.”

“Oh. Oh, fuck. Shit, I’m sorry –“

“It’s okay,” Bucky assured him, covering his hand with his. It felt good to be enveloped by Bucky Barnes. Like … home, only more than that. Like becoming whole. A hand on his shouldn’t feel like that, shouldn’t inspire these kinds of feelings. Especially not for someone who didn’t return them. But Steve couldn’t help it – it was just how Bucky made him feel. “I’m okay with it. And sometimes my humor gets a little dark because of it. You’ll get used to it.” 

I could get used to it all, Steve thought. Holding your hand and holding you tight. 

“Does it affect you still? The war?”

“I still talk to a therapist occasionally. Go to some meetings at the VA. Thinkin’ about maybe doin’ a tour of VA offices at some point. ‘Cos you never let it go, not completely. I still get the night terrors every so often. So you should be prepared for that. Don’t try to wake me – I might hurt you. See, another reason I’m, well, you know. Breathe with me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s what you need to do, you need to breathe with me. Or, get my attention by talkin’ to me, and breathe, count off the breaths, and get me to breathe with you. That tends to settle me enough to bring me out of it.”

“Oh. Oh yeah. I can do that – that’s one of the ways we used to deal with my asthma attacks. You focus on the counting, on matching the breathing to the counts, and it pulls you out of your head enough for your body to catch up. Yeah. Anything else I should be prepared for?”

Bucky smiled to himself and looked up at Steve through the sweep of his long dark lashes. “There’s a columnist coming this way – he’s an asshole of the first order. Kiss me, okay? And don’t stop until he walks away.”

Steve could feel the smirk forming on his mouth as he leaned across the table to capture Bucky’s lips with his own. “Yeah, I can do that,” he breathed, and then let himself enjoy the moment.

&&&

“Sash? Sash, come in here! The boys – the boys are on TV!”

Sarah Rogers hurried from the kitchen into the living room, drying her hands as she walked. Fred was practically jumping up and down in her excitement.

And then she saw it. Steven, her son, wrapped about James, Fred’s boy.

And years of grief and pain and loneliness came flooding back at her in that moment, and she gasped at the sudden onslaught.

Fred was right there, as she always was, there to support her, there to comfort her. She was the rock upon which Sarah could stand, could face the future. Not for the first time, she wondered how she’d ever gotten through the years in Germany for Steve’s treatment, or the years before, when they’d be separated by necessity rather than desire. Phone calls, letters, e-mails, they were wonderful, but they didn’t take the place of a hand on her shoulder, a warm hug, a fond embrace.

Few people were ever lucky enough to have a friendship like hers and Fred’s. And now she was watching their sons discover something new. _They_ were watching it happen, together. Something they’d never thought possible.

“It’s okay, Sash. It’s gonna be okay, sweetie.”

“They look … they look really good together, don’t y’think?”

“Yeah, they do. They really do. Ooh, they’re calling Stevie Jamie’s ‘mystery man’. Whaddya think a’that, huh?”

“Why don’t they know his name? Is Jamie ashamed of my Steve?”

“No. Oh no – you saw how they looked at each other. You saw. Just like … well, you saw. No, I’m sure Jamie’s protecting Steve’s privacy. He does the same for me, you know. The press doesn’t know where to find me, so I’m left in peace. Peace is important when you’re a world-famous movie star like my son.”

“This could help Steve’s career, y’know. Maybe his name should be out there.”

“Well, that’s something for you two to discuss, isn’t it? That’s his decision, and yours if he wants to share it. It’s _not_ Jamie’s.”

“No, I s’pose it’s not. They do look good together. Oh fuck, I’m gonna hafta start recording this shit, aren’t I? I wanna catch every moment they show of my boy.”

“That’s what YouTube’s for, Sash. I guarantee you, that boy’ll have a fan club before the night’s over. Teenaged girls will be writing that – shit, what’s it called?”

“Um, I dunno, what’re y’thinkin’ of?”

“Oh, right – fanfic. They’ll be writin’ fanfic about ours sons already. Just you watch.”

“Fan … fic? Oh. Oh! You mean about them …? Oh! Oh, I don’t wanna read that. He’s my _son_ , Fred!”

“I didn’t say you had to read it, just that they’ll be writin’ it. They won’t be able to help themselves – our boys look beautiful together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they do. I’m still gonna murder James if he hurts my Steve.”

“No you’re not. Because Jamie won’t hurt him. He hasn’t got it in him, you know that’s true.”

“I know. But Fred – we did the right thing, didn’t we? I know it’s been tough on both of them, but they’re together now. So it was the right thing after all. Right?”

“You know it was the only thing, Sash. And look – it all turned out the way it was supposed to in the end. It’s okay.”

The segment had passed, and the channel had turned to commercial. But Sash and Fred continued to look at the TV screen as though they expected it to provide answers, divine inspiration. Instead, they got a commercial for a local flooring company, and finally, the spell was broken. 

“Help me with dinner, will ya? The boys’ll have to come home at some point, and I wanna have something ready to feed ‘em, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. And then let’s get you settled for the evening, hmm? Y’got your appointment for the scan tomorrow – wanna be fresh and rested for that. I got a good feelin’ about this, Sash,” Fred said as they exited the living room and went back into the kitchen to make a meal fit for the family they were finally going to be.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... dun dun dun! What's going on with Fred and Sash? Yeah, you're gonna have to wait for that reveal, 'cos it's not time yet.
> 
> As is usual for me in this fandom, this story is not going in the direction I had planned. Not even close. These boys have very definite ideas of what they want, and they are not cooperating with my plans for this story. But, i have to admit I really kind of love where they're taking me - I hope you will, too.
> 
> So, please feel free to speculate, toss out ideas, and in general, leave me some comment love!


	10. Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky enjoy their first not-date, brunch in the very public Virago restaurant, in full view of the paparazzi. Even though it's not a "real" date, it functions as one, as the two boys get to know each other, test their limits, screw up, and have to figure out how to fix things.
> 
> It's life, in microcosm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So with this chapter, I have officially passed 500,000 words of fan fiction posted here on AO3. I hit and passed a lot of milestones over the past few days, which is very exciting.
> 
> Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Brunch was fun. The food was decent – Bucky had been right that Cucina Mia’s food was better, and the atmosphere nicer. The service was okay, too. The crowd out on the sidewalk seemed to ebb and flow, but anytime a limo pulled up, they clamored for attention. Steve suddenly realized that those fans hadn’t been waiting for Bucky; they’d been waiting for _anyone_ famous. He said as much to Buck.

“Yeah, you’re not going to see fans of me if I’m not announced as being there. I could use social media to announce my plans, create my own personal flash mob, I guess. But I don’t really bother much with social media. I got an Instagram account, I post pictures. Other than that, I don’t really get into the whole share your soul with the internet thing.”

“Don’t you kinda hafta have an online presence nowadays?”

“I have a Twitter account, verified and everything. But the publicist takes care of most of the tweets. She just checks in with me to confirm I approve it. Sometimes I tweet myself, but not often. Just don’t feel the need, really.”

“Huh. So the internet can’t claim to be your close personal friend, huh?”

“Nope. I don’t have many of those. Kinda choosy.”

“This must be kinda uncomfortable then,” Steve said, looking down at his plate.

“What?”

“Sharing all this with me. I mean, we’re not close personal friends. We’ve only really known each other – “

“Feels like our entire lives, actually. I dunno why, but it does. I mean, I don’t remember ever meeting you, but maybe? How about you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel the same. I like being around you. I like how easy this feels. And I’d like to be.”

“What?”

“A close personal friend.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Cool. Think I can pack away another mimosa?”

“Think I can stop you?” Bucky grinned, then lifted his hand to wave down the server, who materialized at Steve’s elbow a moment later. Bucky nodded toward Steve’s glass, and a new mimosa magically appeared. Yeah, brunch with Bucky was fun. 

Hell, just being with Bucky was fun. The most fun that Steve could remember having, to be perfectly honest with himself. And he tried to be honest with himself. He knew this was a job, a job that paid a priceless fee, and that Bucky was only looking for a beard to protect himself from grabby fans and well-meaning matchmakers. But a big part of Steve’s heart was aching already at the thought that this might end. Because when he was being very, very honest with himself, he had to admit in the very short time he’d known Bucky, he’d already started to tumble. Head over heels. Pretty much from the moment he walked into Clint’s office, and every moment they’d been together since then, Bucky just proved over and over in the most unexpected ways how perfect he was for Steve.

But Steve wasn’t perfect for Bucky. Unless he could somehow prove to him that he was.

He had a feeling that when he and Bucky finally parted ways for a little while, Steve was going to have to call in the big guns.

He needed Natasha.

&&&

They let brunch drag out into the late afternoon. The restaurant staff didn’t mind them occupying their little table, because they just kept on ordering stuff from the menu. Steve liked his mimosas, but they didn’t seem to do anything to him. And he also liked to eat. Bucky liked watching him eat. And then he remembered Steve’s fantasy.

He got up to use the facilities, and stopped by the wait station to talk to their server, to arrange for something a little special for dessert. She grinned at him when he explained what he was aiming for, and promised to work something out with the chef that would be the perfect complement to their meal.

He didn’t know exactly what the server was going to bring them, only that it would involve hand feeding. So he was just as surprised and delighted with the choices when she brought out a massive tray of cut fruit, piping hot fresh mini-donuts, a pile of sopapillas fragrant with sugar and cinnamon, tiny cheesecakes, warm oatmeal raisin cookies, tiny little brownies with cashew pieces and caramel, small dishes of dipping sauces, and a large bowl of fresh whipped cream.

Steve’s eyes widened comically as his mouth fell open. “What the heck is this?”

“Something new the chef is trying out and he’d like your opinion. It’s all finger dessert food. Lots of couples find feeding each other to be _romantic_ , so the whole tray is set up for that – bite-sized desserts,” she pointed out the different options, “chocolate, buttercream, raspberry, strawberry, and mango dipping sauces, crushed nuts – hazelnut, cashew, and almond – and freshly whipped sweet cream. Mr. Barnes said you’d be willing to give it a try, give us some feedback.”

“You’re gonna _feed_ me dessert?” Steve asked breathlessly, his eyes wide and a little glazed already.

“It would be my pleasure, baby.”

“Best date _ever_ ,” Steve beamed, and leaned forward to take the first morsel Bucky held up to feed him.

&&&

It was fascinating, a little disturbing, and oddly erotic watching Steve’s reaction as Bucky fed him bits of desserts. Steve held his eyes as Bucky offered the tidbit. Then, Steve’s pink tongue would delicately extend to touch the tip to whatever Bucky was holding, and then his mouth would follow, closing over the sweet and Bucky’s fingers, drawing the treat into his mouth as he moaned softly, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure. Then he’d gently pull back, his lips drawing over Bucky’s fingers on the way, almost kissing the tips of his fingers as he withdrew. He’d chew for a moment or two, and then open his eyes again, waiting.

It was intense. Hypnotic. 

Hell, he was getting little sparks of interest down _there_ , and this wasn’t even his fantasy.

Steve seemed to fall under a spell as they repeated the movements, Bucky selecting the sweet, adding some sauce or whipped cream or both, and holding it out to Steve to taste. Sometimes it was a bit of fruit, sometimes it was something baked. One time, he just swiped his fingers through the warm fruit sauce, scooped up some whipped cream, and offered that to Steve. That time the moans weren’t soft or quiet, the sensation of Steve’s mouth and tongue over his fingers was mesmerizing, and Bucky had to blink and draw a deep breath to reorient himself after that one.

And now Steve sat across from him, his eyes closed, his whole body relaxed as he breathed slow and sure. A small smile lifted up the corner of his mouth. And then he said softly, “Thank you. For taking care of me. Sir.”

The warmth blooming in Bucky’s chest caught him off-guard at the same time it made him smile.

It was only a few weeks since they did the photo shoot.

It was barely 24 hours since he’d asked Steve to take a walk with him to that little park.

And yet there was a place inside him where Steve seemed to belong. Not a physical thing, not a sexual thing, but a spiritual thing. And if – when – Steve said goodbye when their arrangement was at an end, there would be a Steve-sized hole in Bucky’s life. In Bucky’s soul. He’d never met anyone who made him feel _whole_ before. He didn’t believe there was anyone who could make him feel that way. And yet Steve Rogers had stepped into his life and filled in all the places he didn’t realize were empty.

Bucky didn’t believe in love at first sight. Bucky didn’t believe in love at second sight, either. He’d been a little doubtful on the whole love thing, to be honest. But now … what he felt for this beautiful, dorky, outlandish man sitting across from him … scared him. Exhilarated, yes. But scared. He was falling too fast. It might just be endorphins, or the novelty of attraction. Bucky had to be careful. Careful that he didn’t dive too deep, and find himself in the shallows by mistake. He blinked, feeling a strange prickling at his eyes, like tears forming, but no. Just his imagination. It was overactive right now. Something about Steve did that to him. 

He had to be careful. He had to protect himself. He had to play a part. And if he was good, if he was very, very good, maybe the part would become reality.

&&&

The return trip to the rendezvous hotel was charged and dangerous. Bucky didn’t realize just how flammable the situation was until Happy closed the door on the two of them in the passenger section, and Steve fucking launched himself at Bucky. One second, Bucky was smiling up at Happy as he closed the door, the next, Bucky had an armful of kissing, biting, moaning, writhing Steve. Not just an armful, but a lapful as well.

And _oh, God_. 

And _hot damn_.

And _oh, shit!_

As Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, as he ground his pelvis into Bucky’s, as Bucky’s hand automatically moved to caress and stroke his back, his neck, his cheek, Bucky realized that Steve was compromised.

_The feeding_. Steve had slipped into that weird state again. And now he was doing his level best to turn Bucky on – so what, so Bucky would fuck him?

And damn, if he wasn’t succeeding in getting Bucky aroused, but this was all wrong.

“C’mon, baby, don’chu wan’ me? I want you so bad, baby. I’m so fuckin’ turned on right now I’m gonna bust if I don’t get some. I _need_ you. C’mon, Buck, c’mon baby, I _need_ you,” Steve chanted, licking and sucking his way up Bucky’s neck, his hands scrabbling at Bucky’s shirt, pulling it up and rucking it up under his armpits. He reached down to Bucky’s waistband and was trying to slide his hand into Bucky’s pants when Bucky caught his wrist in an iron grip.

“Steve. _No_.”

Steve reared back, knees bracketing Bucky’s hips, hard-on visibly tenting his pants as he stared, glassy-eyed at Bucky, his brows scrunched together in a confused frown as he drew his lower lip into his mouth and ran his tongue over it suggestively. “I thought … I thought you wanted this. You played into my fantasy, y’hadda know what you were doin’ t’me – Buck, don’t leave me hangin’, baby. I want you so bad I could bust –“

“No. Steve, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I don’t … I don’t work that way, remember?”

Steve looked at him for a long, charged moment, and then he smiled slyly, running that damnable tongue across his lower lip slowly, putting on a show. “No?” And then his body was undulating, his groin pressing down against Bucky’s growing erection, grinding, rotating, the sensation so intense that Bucky’s head just slammed back against the headrest. “Somethin’s workin’, Buck. Somethin’ I wanna touch and taste and feel. Show me, baby, show me that you want me too –“

A growl clawed its way out of Bucky’s chest, a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. He let go of the hand he held and instead grabbed the back of Steve’s head and yanked him back.

All he wanted to do was kiss that mouth, suck the neck, mark him in every way possible. He _wanted_ to fuck him. He _wanted_ that physical contact. 

Bucky had wanted to want. He’d never actually wanted. It was a strange and intoxicating sensation, but it was also terrifying. And he would not give into it when he couldn’t trust that Steve was in full control of his consent.

“No.”

“But, Bucky –“

“No. I don’t work that way. Steve – Stevie, please. I didn’t realize what I was doin’ to you. I don’t want to … I don’t want to take advantage. And I … I’m not ready. What you’re askin’ of me … I don’t … I don’t do that. Remember?”

“But –“

“Please, Steve. Please.” He let go of Steve’s hair and placed his hand on Steve’s cheek, and stroked it gently. “C’mon, Steve, please. Just … just let’s hold each other, okay? Just quiet, okay. Relax. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you just relax and let me hold you?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed softly. “Yeah, I can do that,” he agreed. And he folded in on himself, curling himself small so he could settle into Bucky’s lap, the sexual energy dissipating as he wound his arms around Bucky’s waist and tucked his head under Bucky’s chin. As Steve settled, Bucky curled his arm around Steve, and placed a kiss on top of his hair. 

Bucky wished they’d brought his prosthetic, because it was awkward holding Steve and not touching him in other ways. He wanted to stroke and soothe, and make Steve feel safe and loved.

Because if he were forced to, he’d have to admit it. 

Bucky Barnes was falling in love with Steve Rogers.

And the other thing that Bucky had to admit is that he sucked at aftercare. He was going to have to learn to recognize the signs and care properly for Steve if they were going to spend time together pretending to be an item. Bucky couldn’t afford to let Steve down like this again.

Not if he hoped to keep him.

&&&

Happy made sure there was an uber waiting for them when they arrived at the hotel, and he helped them into the lobby where they met up with the driver, who got them to Bucky’s place. At Bucky’s request, he hung around, waiting for the boys to collect Steve’s stuff so he could return home. Steve finally pulled himself out of his shell enough to try to suggest he could go home on his own, but Bucky was insistent on accompanying him, showing him to the door like a proper date. Steve had smiled wanly at that, and Bucky felt his heart breaking a little.

He’d really screwed this up. He’d tried to do something romantic and spontaneous and fun, and the end result was that Steve was frustrated and withdrawn, and Bucky felt like shit. He felt more keenly how he was different from other people, felt broken and useless in his inability to respond properly to a sexy manbeast offering himself to him like Steve had. 

Consent, he had to remind himself of consent. Bucky did the right thing. After doing the wrong thing. But he was going to learn. He’d learn to take good care of Steve. He’d learn to be worthy of Steve.

If Steve let him.

&&&

When they arrived at the Rogers’s house, they were met on the porch by the smell of dinner cooking.

Steve groaned. “Oh, God. Mom’s gonna wanna feed us. Look, you don’t hafta stay – I know I screwed up –“

“Steve, you didn’t. I should’ve realized somethin’ was happenin’. I’m just not used to … well, I’m not used to being around someone who reacts that way. And I didn’t do what I shoulda done. Honest, y’didn’t do anything wrong – hey,” he wrapped his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and ducked down so he could look up into those beautiful baby blues. “We’re gonna hafta learn about each other. We’re both gonna make mistakes. That’s how relationships work, Steve –“

“I don’t have relationships,” Steve admitted in strained, soft voice. “I have flings, or one night stands. Nobody ever stays longer’n a few weeks, if that. I drive ‘em away.”

“You’re not gonna drive me away, Steve.”

“’Cos you need me to be your beard. I get it.”

“No, ‘cos I actually like your dumb ass. You’re fun and funny and yeah, you’re easy on the eyes. But I enjoy being with you. I want us to be friends, y’know?”

“Friends with benefits?” Steve asked hopefully.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, huh? We agreed to kissing. I like kissing. I can handle kissing. And I do like kissing you,” he said, straightening and stepping closer to look directly into Steve’s eyes. “I like kissing you a lot,” he whispered, and pressed their lips together.

Steve whimpered into the kiss, his hands flying to cup Bucky’s neck and pull him close. The kiss was just starting to deepen, Steve’s body relaxing against Bucky’s, when the door opened.

“About damn time! Dinner’s ready, you two!”

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I was going gangbusters on this until I realized that Steve had dropped into a kind of subspace, and Bucky had no idea how to deal. Steve mistakenly assumed that Bucky acting out Steve's fantasy so thoroughly meant that Bucky was totally on board for what would naturally happen next for someone having a sexual fantasy acted out.
> 
> So, boys making mistakes, and trying to figure out how not to be stupid. Also, boys falling in love. Go figure.
> 
> Next chapter will have more of Fred and Sash, more of their mysterious worries that I'm not going to explain for several more chapters. I am not trying to be a tease, but you'll find out when the boys find out.
> 
> Feel free to speculate! Comments always cheerfully accepted!


	11. Floors and Ceilings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some mother-son-mother-son bonding time, a visit from an unexpected source, and an admission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting another chapter posted. Work is kicking my ass. I had a con to go to (Con.txt). It's been ungodly hot. All true. Oh, and I got to see Duran Duran perform. And how about the new Star Trek film? Oh. My. God. But my heart still belongs to Steve and Bucky. But Sulu! :)

“Good grief, Steve, what were you thinking? Not that you two don’t look absolutely perfect together, but just draping yourself over James here?” Sash was saying as she poured Fred a little more wine, brandishing her fork like a conductor’s baton and threatening to splatter someone with the sauce from an excellent beef stroganoff.

“Honestly, I wasn’t, Ma. I just kinda freaked out at the crowd.”

Sash nodded sagely. “So you went to where you felt safe,” she said softly, an odd expression flitting across her face. “As you would,” she added with a smile.

Bucky couldn’t help feeling like there was a whole ‘nother conversation going on that neither he nor Steve were privy to. He glanced over his wine glass to his own Mom, and she was looking at Sash with an odd mixture of fondness and pain. Just what was going on with these two?

Well, he was never going to find out if he didn’t ask. So he did. “So how come Steve and I never met before? I mean, you two are thick as thieves, but neither of us knew the other existed.”

“Well, _I_ knew _you_ existed. I liked your movies, and when you told an interviewer you were from Brooklyn, I asked Fred if she knew you, and she admitted you were her son. I just never thought I’d get to meet you,” Steve admitted around a mouthful of savory noodles.

“Okay, so I’m the only one who was kept in the dark?”

“No one kept you in the dark, Jamie,” his Ma was quick to correct, but the tightening around her eyes told him that there was a cost to the words for her. He might have better luck getting her alone to ask his questions. “Just never came up,” she continued, taking a healthy swig of her wine and holding out the glass to Sash to top it off. “When you were in grade school, we lived in a different neighborhood. Sash and I didn’t see each other much at all back then. It wasn’t ‘til after she got back from Steve’s treatments in Germany that we reconnected.”

Now Bucky knew his Mom was lying to him. Steve had said that Sash and his Ma had kept in close contact while Sash and Steve were in Germany.

“So how come you didn’t introduce us then?”

“You were away, baby. Fighting for your country. Then you got home and,” she nodded toward his left arm, thankfully equipped with the prosthetic again so he was fully balanced and able to function normally again. Yeah, those first months back, adjusting to the loss of his arm, then getting pulled into the whirlwind that was Tony Stark and his R&D … maybe it was just as well no one thought to introduce him and Steve. Steve might not have liked who he was then. Bucky sure as hell hadn’t. “Then Hollywood called and off you went. Just never came up,” she added again with a shrug, and turned her attention back to her plate.

And boy, was she giving the admittedly excellent stroganoff way more focus and attention than any meal deserved.

Bucky turned toward Sash to gauge her reaction, and was shocked to see her staring at Steve with tears glittering in her eyes. She blinked once, twice, and it seemed like they were gone, but Bucky knew he hadn’t imagined them. He just didn’t understand what had inspired them.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Bucky reached over and laid his right hand gently over Steve’s left, earning him a pleased little gasp from Steve, and a widening of the eyes from Sash, and a frantic grab of her hand by Bucky’s Ma. Steve moved his hand so that their palms touched, and let his thumb slide back and forth over Bucky’s knuckle. Normally, he didn’t like such casual touches – had to prepare himself for them, psych himself up for them. And the touches became less casual, more planned, more sterile. But the way Steve’s palm felt warm and solid against his felt right, just as the gentle rhythm of his thumb sweeping back and forth over his knuckle, the heat and the pulse and the softness of his skin felt oddly like home. A home he didn’t remember ever having, but home nonetheless. Without thinking, he brought their twined hands up to his lips, and kissed Steve’s knuckles gently, his eyes locked with Steve’s as darkness expanded in those baby blues. 

Oh.

He’d done it again.

He didn’t mean to make promises to Steve that he couldn’t keep. These things, these actions that were so foreign to his nature just seemed so natural when he was with Steve. He didn’t understand it, and yet he couldn’t seem to control it either.

He was going to have to learn.

&&&

Sash and Fred insisted on kitchen duty so the boys could take over the living room and go back to their _Gilmore Girls_ marathon. Steve cuddled into Bucky’s side, and Bucky was comfortable with the warm weight of Steve curled against him, tucked under Bucky’s own arm. He strained to hear the conversation between the two mothers, but their voices were muted and low as they conversed in the kitchen. Bucky could only catch one word in twenty or so, not enough to piece together any kind of coherent narrative.

Soon, wine, more food, the warmth and weight of Steve pressed against him, all made Bucky drowsy. Even the antics of the denizens of Stars Hollow weren’t enough to keep his eyes open, and he drifted asleep, cheek resting on Steve’s hair, Steve’s arms wrapped around his middle, and one arm wrapped around Steve’s shoulders, the other flung wide. Within minutes, even their unlabored breathing synched together, a gentle counterpoint underlying the patter of the Gilmore women and the men who tried to love them.

&&&

“I dunno why you insisted on doing dishes, Sash. The boys offered, and God knows you could use the rest,” Fred said as she dried a plate and put it in the rack.

“Just a scan, Fred. I’ve had plenty of those. All it’s gonna do is tell me the cancer’s gotten bigger,” Sash insisted, swishing a sudsy brush across the dish, then tipping it under the hot spray.

“’S’baseline, remember. Least this trial doesn’t require a full lung biopsy, huh? Just a snip of your skin,” Fred took the dish from Sash and started drying it.

“Genetic shit. Mappin’ my fuckin’ DNA. Who’d’a thought we’d live to see the future, huh?” She paused and put both hands on the edge of the sink, staring down into the bubbles for a moment.

“Pretty sure that’s what all the protestin’ was about – ensurin’ a future,” Fred chuckled, placing the last dish in the rack.

Sash lifted her head and shook it, smiling ruefully. “I sure as fuck didn’t do sit-ins and get arrested for peaceful protest all over the goddamned country so some spray-tanned hooligan bigot could get into the White House. Asshole looks like a fuckin’ oompah-loompah. He undoes everything we accomplished, I’m comin’ back to haunt his ugly old white ass,” she announced angrily as she pulled the plug and let the wash water empty down the drain with a gurgle.

“Y’ain’t dead yet, Sash. Not for a long time,” Fred informed her, handing her a dry towel for her hands.

Sash paused, holding the towel and looking into Fred’s eyes. “You know that’s wishful thinking, right, Fred?”

“Don’t mean I can’t keep wishin’, baby,” Fred leaned forward and placed a small kiss on the tip of Sash’s nose.

Sash smiled. “You’ll take care of Steve for me, won’t you, sweetie.”

“Like he was my own. We’ve been through this before, Sash. I promise. Steve won’t be alone,” Fred insisted, looping her arm through Sash’s as Sash turned off the kitchen light and they made their way back into the apartment.

“And Jamie – he’s gonna make sure he’s okay, right? What they have … it’s gonna work out, isn’t it?”

“Looks like it already is, Sash.” Fred nodded toward the couch, where Bucky and Steve had fallen asleep. Steve was drawn up in a little ball, curled into Bucky’s side, practically in his lap, while Bucky’s flesh arm fell protectively around Steve’s shoulders, holding him close. Bucky’s face rested against the top of Steve’s head. They looked impossibly young, and they looked like they belonged to each other.

Sash gasped out a sob, her hand flying to her mouth to cover it up. Fred turned and smiled a watery smile, running her hands up and down Sash’s arms. As Sash’s sobs threatened to become full blown crying, Fred drew her into her arms, and held her close, letting the tears fall silently into her shoulder as she rocked Sash back and forth. Fred let her own tears fall quietly as she tried to shuffle Sash out of the living room and toward her bedroom. At this rate, she was going to be exhausted come morning and that test.

&&&

Bucky opened his eyes groggily to unfamiliar darkness, and felt a momentary panic rise like bile until he started to register his surroundings. Sitting. He was sitting. On something soft, warm, and comfortable. Furniture. Sofa. Not the desert. Not … not there. And with something soft, heavy, and hot leaning against him. _Steve_. He could still smell the lingering scent of dinner on the air, a faint and fragrant aroma. Stroganoff. He was at the Rogers’s. Steve was the lump pressing into his side and onto his bladder. They’d fallen asleep watching Netflix, and their Mas had just let them be. And he had to take a leak something fierce, but he didn’t want to disturb Steve. But he really, really needed to get up and take care of business. 

It was tortuous, untangling himself from Steve and sliding free, and more than once, Steve grumbled in his sleep, shifting this way or that, a frowny divot forming between his brows. Once, his arm shot around Bucky’s ribs and pulled tight. It would’ve been cute if Bucky hadn’t needed to take a whiz so fuckin’ bad. Finally, Bucky freed himself, and went off in search of the closest bathroom.

Sighing with relief after he’d finished and washed his hands, he came out of the bathroom to see light spilling into the hallway from an open door. Curious, he stepped around to find his own Mom sitting in an easy chair, reading from her tablet, bathed in the warm golden light of an old table lamp with a stretched silk shade. He stood there for a moment watching her, seeing her in a new light. Her friendship with Sash ran deeper than anything else Bucky knew about his Mom, and yet until a couple of days ago, he’d never known they knew each other. Never known how important, how deep the friendship ran. 

He set his jaw and straightened, clearing his throat in the process. She looked up sharply at the sound, then smiled her eye-crinkling smile when she saw it was him.

“What’re you doin’ up, Jamie? You and Steve looked pretty comfy there on the couch.”

“Hadda pee. You livin’ here now, Ma?”

“Just about,” she chuckled, setting the tablet down on the table beside her. “Steve deserves a break. He’s a good son, but he can’t turn his whole life over to Sash. He deserves a little happiness. Just like you do.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, glancing over his shoulder. “So if we deserve so much happiness, how come you and Sash never introduced us, huh, Ma? How come I never knew Sash or Steve existed? It’s weird, Ma. It’s really weird. And I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed out on something important.”

His Ma’s face drew in on itself, her lips flattening into a long thin line. She shook her head. “Told you – we lived in a different neighborhood, then Sash and Steve went to Germany. We lost touch –“

“Steve told me that you and Sash talked every day on the Internet. Quit bullshitting me, Ma. What’s the story here?”

Ma sat back in her chair, covering her mouth with her hand as she turned away. She was silent for so long, Bucky thought that maybe she was just going to ignore him until he walked away. It made him feel … betrayed. Like his own Ma was choosing someone else over him. He felt an unreasonable jealousy start to form, a negative feeling toward Sash Rogers for breaking his family, when he realized that Ma was crying. He fell to his knees immediately, his hands taking hers and stroking her skin soothingly as he babbled nonsense words to her.

She turned then and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, drawing him close so she could kiss his forehead like she’d done when he was a boy. “I want to tell you everything. I’ve wanted … but I can’t. It’s not my story to tell, Jamie. Just be glad you found each other now. Be happy together. Let that be enough. Please, baby?”

“Does Sash have somethin’ on you, Ma –“

“Oh my God, nothin’ like that, baby. No. It’s just not my story is all. But you can write your own, you and Steve. The story of Steve and Jamie.”

“Steve and Bucky.”

She choked a little sob and nodded. “Steve and _Bucky_. I’m so glad you found each other. Now why don’t you see if you can get that boy to go to bed, hmmm? He’s got a big bed, big enough for you both.”

“Sure thing, Ma. Only I think I’ll head home after I get him settled. I’m not quite ready for a sleepover in his bed.”

&&&

Steve was a little grumpy the following morning. Bucky had roused him from sleep on the couch, and frog-marched him to his bedroom where he tucked him in with a platonic kiss to the forehead, swatting away Steve’s grabby hands for one more cuddle, one more blistering kiss. Bucky had already called up an uber on the app, and refused to let himself be coaxed into bed with Steve. So Steve had woken cold and alone and missing Bucky terribly.

What had he gotten himself into? He couldn’t bear to be away from the gorgeous stuff of his spank bank for more than a few hours. And as he handled himself into a post-orgasmic haze, he realized that need wasn’t going away any time soon. He’d told Bucky he didn’t do relationships. That didn’t mean he didn’t want them. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t hoped his one-night stands and flings would grow into them. 

Wasn’t it just a kick in the head that the best relationship of his life was as fake as the ID he’d carried at 17?

He hopped into the shower to get ready to escort Ma and Fred to Ma’s first appointment on the new trial. She’d passed the preliminary phase, now she just needed to go through the screening MRI and hopefully she’d be able to start with the study drug in a few days. Her skin biopsy had come back positive for the mutation they were looking for, and this drug had some really promising results for people who had this mutation. Not perfect, and not everybody, but promising. 

He finished dressing and then ran down the stairs to greet the day, only to find Ma, Fred, Happy, and some goateed guy he thought he recognized from a late-night infomercial standing in the living room.

“Mr. Rogers,” Happy greeted formally with a slight incline of his head.

“Happy, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Steve?”

“None. I won’t do it,” he answered with a cheeky grin.

“He really won’t. Has some nutso idea that a proper chauffeur never shows familiarity. A rule be breaks on the regular with me, but that may be because we’ve been together for absolute years. My platonic other half.”

“I thought Dr. Banner was your platonic other half,” Happy snarked with a sideways glance at Goatee.

“My other platonic other half. So this is Bucky’s Steve. You clean up nice, I’ll give you that.”

“Um … thanks? And you are …?”

“Ah. Tony Stark,” he introduced, his eyes dropping to Steve’s outstretched right hand. “I don’t do that,” he shook his head.

“Don’t do … ?””

“Hands. Touching. I don’t. It’s not you, it’s me. Look, don’t you three have somewhere to be?” he asked to the room at large, and Ma giggled. She fucking _giggled_.

“Mr. Stark offered us Mr. Hogan’s services to go to my appointments,” Sash explained.

“Tony,” Stark corrected with an adoring smile. Ma could charm the pants off anybody if she chose, and she looked like she had serious designs on Stark’s trousers. No, Steve needed to remove that image STAT.

“I was gonna –“

“You, Bucky’s Steve, were gonna stay right here and let me get to know you. Happy, on the other hand, is just that. Happy to help. I’ve told your lovely Mom here that Happy will be available to get her to all her appointments and to assist in any way he can.”

“I _am_ happy to help. Ladies, if you would?” he encouraged Ma and Fred toward the door. “Sooner we get started, sooner you get this over with and I can take you somewhere nice for lunch.” With that, Ma gave Steve a smooch on the cheek, and the two women left with Happy, both of them giggling and whispering like tweens with a new phone app.

That left Steve standing in the living room across from Tony Stark. Very well dressed Tony Stark, meticulously turned out with an expensive suit, impeccable grooming, and a knowing smile. Steve gestured toward the best chair, and Stark seated himself without a glance. Steve sat on the couch, his hands folded between his knees.

“I know about the arrangement, so you don’t have to act with me. I was the one who came up with the idea of you and Bucky having a relationship for the press. He told me what your price was. Gotta say, you’re really built to be a fucking saint.”

“Ain’t a saint. Someone might say I’m extorting Buck – Ma’s co-pays ain’t cheap.”

“I am well aware. Have all the bills sent to my office,” he said, flicking a card toward Steve. “Don’t like being handed stuff. Don’t like handing stuff. It’s okay, Steverino. My pockets are deeper than Barnes’s. That make you feel any better?”

“You’ll pay for my Ma to get what she needs?”

“Lost my Mom when I was in my 20s. Dad, too. But I was close to Mom. It’s a crap feeling to lose your mother. I don’t wish it on anyone.”

“You’re not paying every Mom’s medical bills –“

“No, I’m helping out a friend of a friend. Because that’s what I hear you are. Barnes doesn’t have many friends. He’s very selective. In his line of work, you have to be. Just like me – grow a few billion, and everyone wants to be your friend. Few are worth it. How about you? Are you worth it?”

“I really like him,” Steve blurted suddenly,, turning bright, hot red while Stark just grinned at him. “I mean, yeah, sure, I’ll do anything I can to help. I –“

“It’s okay if you really like him. In fact, I’d really like to see Buck find some happiness. He’s been lonely a long time, but not everyone can accept the way he is. He’s hurt himself in the past by trying to be something he’s not because his partner of the moment couldn’t understand. But you understand, don’t you?”

“Trying. Fucked up yesterday, but I’m trying.”

“Well, I could ask for a little more success, maybe, but yeah, trying is good. Took me a long time to find the right person, and even longer to recognize her. And then way more trial and error than I would ever tolerate in the lab, but we eventually found our groove. Then she took pity on me, and married my sorry ass.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think we’re talkin’ about that here –“

“Why not?”

“Well, ‘cos Bucky’s a movie star –“

“Everyone has the potential to be a star. We are made of star stuff, haven’t you heard? So wha’d’you do? For a living, for your bliss, for whatever?”

“Artist. Sometimes. I pick up a lot of odd jobs, too, to help cover Ma’s premiums and her co-pays.”

“Premiums. Yes. Have the bills sent to my office. I have people who’ll take care of them. We need to free up more time for you to be arting. And dating. It’s very important that you have the time to devote to Bucky’s career. To be there for him on tour, to look good on his arm, to help him come down from an episode –“

“PTSD, you mean.”

“Interview with someone stupid. Works him up every time, he needs help getting out of his head and relaxing. But also PTSD. Good call.”

“Uh, okay,” Steve said doubtfully. “Hey, I haven’t had coffee or breakfast yet, you wanna join me –“

“Coffee. Yes. Show me.”

“Kitchen’s this way. So, what did you actually want to talk to me about?” Steve asked as they got up and headed toward the kitchen.

“Career goals. You must have some. I want to help you achieve them.”

“So Bucky is happy.”

“So you are happy. But I’m pretty sure a happy Steve is going to cause a happy Bucky. And Happy Hogan can ferry you around. So everybody’s happy. But I’ve seen your work – Buck sent photos. Oh, didn’t know he was sneaking around taking holiday snaps, huh? He wanted me to see what you can do. I like what I see. I can promote what I see, if you’re interested. I own a few galleries, a publishing house or two – and yeah, Buck’s studio. I got the toys. You got the talent. Oh, did Barnes tell you you’re gonna need a new wardrobe?”

Steve was staring open-mouthed at the word vomit coming out of Tony Stark’s mouth, dumbfounded that yet another fairy godfather had stepped into his life, offering him his heart’s desire. But this latest statement had his eyebrows crawling into his hairline and his eyes widening so much he felt he must look like an anime character. He paused with the coffee pot in his hand, a thin stream of rich, dark fluid trickling into the cup below. “Wardrobe?”

“Little faster, maybe? So the cup is filed before next week? And yes, wardrobe. Can’t be on the red carpet in old Converse. Well, you could, and it would be a helluva statement, but why? Why do that when you can have all the fun of shopping for cool new gear on someone else’s dime? Ever been fitted for a suit?” Steve shook his head. “Well, let me tell you, you learn to look at your junk in a whole new way when someone’s measuring you for a suit. It’s fun. You’ll like it. Got some eggs to go with this coffee?”

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, really not trying to belabor the whole mystery thing, but something's gotta give to get Sash to let it go. Next chapter is already in the works, where someone from Steve's past may ruin his future. Press tour is about to start, and that's when all the sharks are out, scenting the water for blood. Will our boys make it out alive?
> 
> Your comments will sustain them ... If clapping could save Tinkerbell, your comments can save Steve and Bucky. Seriously! :)
> 
> Ah, just hit me up with comments, let me know you're out there and I'm still on track.


	12. Doors and Windows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone from Steve's past stirs the pot, leaving him feeling vulnerable and afraid.
> 
> In the meantime, Bucky is learning to use his words, to say what he wants and does not want.
> 
> But can he say he really wants Steve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter kind of caught me off guard. This is what happens when I write these guys - they take control of the story and off it goes.
> 
> I mention possible warnings in the end notes. Nothing too bad, but if you feel the need to have 'em, they're there.

Over the next few weeks, Steve and Bucky continued to “fake date,” making sure to cuddle and canoodle in public at big events, and simply talk and laugh and enjoy each other’s company when they manage to snag time for more private moments. _Cucina Mia_ was a favorite spot, and Steve happily worked his way through the menu, often taste-testing new dishes Mama wanted to try out. He was her favorite lab rat when it came to new appetizers and desserts, while Bucky was often the arbiter of any conflicts over entrees. They found a 24/7 diner that was cozy, out of the way, and impenetrable to paparazzi. Fougner Park was another place they hung out in. And they often visited at each other’s places, but Bucky never stayed over again after that first night where they’d passed out on the Rogers couch. Steve sometimes stayed over at Buck’s, grumbling his way to the guest room when there was a perfectly good half a bed available in Bucky’s room, but not too often.

Truth be told, Steve hated sleeping in the guest room, especially when there was a perfectly good half a bed with Bucky in it in Bucky’s room. A bed he feared he’d never get to share, no matter how much he wished for it.

But he was learning Bucky’s limits, learning that kissing was good, nibbling on earlobe and neck and jaw was negotiable, gentle touches were acceptable, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair was okay up to a point, but when Steve’s hands strayed down Bucky’s back to grab hold of his glorious ass, he inevitably soured the mood by bringing Buck right out of the moment. And Steve was an ass man, so his hands naturally gravitated toward the swell of Buck’s butt. Forget nipple play. Bucky’s chest was in the Forbidden Zone. And his dick? 

One evening they were making out on Bucky’s couch, deep languorous kisses that made Steve’s toes curl and his own dick stand up and blow reveille. For fuck’s sake, Bucky was an incredible kisser, and he put everything he had into it. And maybe that made sense, since he didn’t get into the other stuff. He just kissed really, really well.

But as he straddled Bucky’s lap, kissing him into the sofa, Steve had forgotten who he was making out with and slid his hand down Bucky’s abdomen and right under his waistband, grabbing hold of Bucky’s impressive – and delightfully hard – cock, and it was like he was kissing a statue made of marble and metal, cold and unyielding. Bucky froze up so fast, it was like the temperature dropped a hundred degrees in the space of a breath. And Bucky’s metal arm moved so fast, it was like it was magic. Painful magic, because the prosthetic hand clamped around Steve’s wrist and drew his hand out of Bucky’s pants.

“Steve. _No_.”

“But Buck, I can help with that, I _wanna_ help –“

“It’ll go away on its own.”

“Don’t you ever …?”

“Jerk off? I have. I can. I’m just … I’m not ready, Steve,” he said gently, loosening his grip on Steve’s wrist. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Bucky asked with a frown, turning Steve’s wrist over to examine the skin. There was a little bit of redness where the pads of the metal fingers had pressed into his skin, but it would fade in no time.

“I can’t imagine,” Steve said softly. “I can’t imagine not wanting to be touched, sexually I mean.” He slid to the side, off Bucky, and propped himself up on his elbows. “I mean, I’m practically a manslut next to you, y’know? I _love_ sex.”

“Sex doesn’t mean anything to me, Steve. Not in itself. But to share with someone I care about, to open myself to intimacy, to closeness? I want that with you. I think. I’m not sure, this is all so new to me. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.”

“You’ve had lovers, though. Right?”

“I’ve had sex. I think my partners were satisfied. It felt okay, I guess. But it was never something I really wanted. Going through the motions, maybe.” Bucky leaned back against the couch with a whoosh, frowning. “I can’t imagine how _you_ feel. To want sex for sex’s sake.”

“It feels good. Sometimes better than other times – who matters. Most of the time. Maybe sometime … maybe sometime you’ll let me try. To show you. Baby steps, I promise. But I can make you feel good, Buck. It doesn’t have to be penetration. It doesn’t even have to be skin on skin, although I fuckin’ love that. There are ways we can bring each other pleasure without the …”

“The messy stuff?” Bucky asked with a faint smile.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steve answered with a grin and a shrug.

“Yeah. Maybe, yeah. I’d like to try. Just not tonight, okay, Steve? Tonight I just wanna cuddle a little. Maybe kiss some more. But nothin’, y’know, below the belt. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, Buck. ‘Course it’s okay. I got a little greedy is all. I still can’t believe I get to kiss you. Top ten for sure,” he added, leaning in to brush his lips against Bucky’s.

“Top ten what?” Bucky chuckled, chasing Steve’s lips with his own.

“Top ten kissers, ‘course!” Steve chuckled, nipping at Bucky’s lower lip, running the tip of his tongue across the red and swollen skin. 

“And where do I place in the top ten?” Bucky demanded, nuzzling at the soft underside of Steve’s jaw.

“Oh, I dunno. There’s a lot of competition – ow! That hurt!” he complained when Bucky bit him for real at the juncture of neck and shoulder. “Fuck you, jerk! Yer a fuckin’ vampire! I’m gonna have to wear garlic, and no one’ll ever wanna fuck me again!”

“Such a fuckin’ drama queen, you punk. You know you’re eminently fuckable –“

“Just not by you,” Steve corrected softly, sliding his hand around Bucky’s neck to stroke the soft hairs at the base of his skull.

“Just not by me,” Bucky agreed just as softly, pulling back to look into Steve’s eyes. “You’re okay with that, right? I mean, really?”

“Like I said, I still can’t believe I get to kiss you. I’m okay with whatever you wanna give me, Buck. I know –“ He was about to say, “I know this ain’t real,” but he didn’t want to give it voice. If he didn’t say it, it wasn’t true. And he could continue to live in this happy little fantasy where they really were boyfriends.

Because when Steve was honest with himself, he admitted that’s what he wanted. Stark had encouraged him to imagine the possibilities, and Steve had a very good imagination.

He could imagine so much. A lifetime of so much.

“You know _what_ , Steve?” Bucky was asking, smiling fondly.

“I know how lucky I am.”

&&&

Sash had started the experimental treatment, and thoroughly enjoyed teasing Happy every time he arrived to escort her and Fred to appointments. Happy seemed to enjoy the exchanges just as much, and started showing up with little gifts for Sash – flowers, candy, a bag of weed. He took Sash to be fitted for a wig, and just as cheerfully escorted her out so she could buy colorful silk scarves instead. She might be facing a time limit, but Sash wasn’t going out with a whimper, and Happy was just that – happy to aid and abet her taking life by the balls to keep living every day. 

Neither Bucky nor Steve had managed to get any more out of their Moms, so they focused on just enjoying each other’s company, as Bucky started to prepare Steve for the onslaught of the actual film promotion.

As Tony had noted, Steve needed to be fitted with several top of the line suits, including a tux, to travel with Bucky. Bucky introduced him to Tony’s tailor, Monty, a dapper and cheeky British chap with a ready smile, a flirty eyebrow, and a keen eye for color, texture, and drape. He was a true artist whose canvas was clothing the human body, frequently male, but he didn’t discriminate against anyone who genuinely wanted his talent. Monty was funny, engaging, and beside himself at the opportunity to dress such a perfect specimen. He flirted outrageously with Steve, who enjoyed it immensely, flirting back just as enthusiastically. Like Sash, Steve enjoyed a little pampering, a little attention. He never abused it, never let it get to his head, and he knew he was lucky, knew his Ma was lucky, that Bucky Barnes had come into their lives like a snarky guardian angel, full of sass and sex appeal.

But Steve would be lying to himself that he didn’t feel a little something when he was standing there on the dais, Monty practically on his knees before him, eye to tip with his cock, his hands moving to measure his inseam from his junk to his ankle. Tony was right – there was something oddly erotic yet asexual about being fitted for a new suit. Especially when the guy was as cute as Monty was. And from the expression in his eyes, very, very willing.

It didn’t take much imagination to picture his pretty smile stretched around Steve’s cock. Or his long legs wrapped around Steve’s waist as he plowed into him. Fuck, he’d be satisfied with Monty just unpinning his crotch and stroking his dick about now.

Steve stared down at him, letting his tongue caress across his lower lip. What he and Bucky had, it was fun and it was exciting, but Steve was getting tired to excusing himself on the regular so he could rub one out in private.

It would be so easy to lead Monty back into the changing rooms for a quick fuck, a suckjob, even a hand job that wasn’t by his own goddamned hand. 

And then he glanced over to where Buck sat balanced on two feet of the chair, idly scrolling through his feed, but here, present. Still. Gorgeous, funny, talented. Kind. With a devilish sense of humor and an unbridled sense of fun.

Getting off wasn’t worth losing _that_. Not while he still had a chance to maybe turn it into more. Permanent. A _real_ relationship. Too many people in Bucky’s past couldn’t get beyond their own sexual satisfaction, and it had left Bucky wary, hesitant, maybe a little gunshy.

Steve could be better. It was difficult and he was horny as fuck, but he could do it. For Bucky.

They could have something real.

If he could just be good enough. If he could just convince Bucky to take a real chance on him.

Bucky chose that moment to look up from his phone, and the smile he bestowed on Steve made him weak in the knees. Literally, he started to sag, and Monty caught him with an inadvertent hand to his balls, and Steve couldn’t help the twitch forward into Monty’s palm.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t mean –“

“’S’allright, Monty. My mistake. Lost my concentration.”

“Y’okay, Steve? Wanna take a break – there’s a diner not far from here, we could grab a bite, then come back and Monty can finish up –“

“Or, I could take your orders, and have the food delivered, and we can continue to make Mr. Rogers here the most beautiful man on the red carpet.”

“More beautiful than me?” Bucky challenged with a grin.

“No one is more beautiful than you, sir. But this one? This one is a close second,” Monty enthused as he rose elegantly from his knees to stand at his full height looking directly into Steve’s eyes. “Beautiful,” he repeated so only Steve could hear.

Steve smiled faintly at Monty, earning him a small, confused frown. He could hear the gears turning in Monty’s head. Had he mistaken politeness for interest? Had he misread the signs?

Steve couldn’t believe he’d been contemplating fucking someone else while Bucky was sitting right there.

Especially not someone that Bucky knew and trusted.

God, maybe he really was as bad as –

“Well, fuck me sideways. If it isn’t little Stevie Rogers.”

Surely Steve was having an auditory hallucination. Because there was no way that voice could be in Monty’s shop. Monty’s exclusive, bespoke, gentlemen’s gentlemen shop where you had to have a referral to even be let in the front door.

No one would ever give that to Brock Rumlow.

But apparently someone had. Monty turned regally toward the sound of that hated voice, and simply said, “Language, Mr. Rumlow. I run a respectable establishment, and I will not have such disrespectful utterances mar the serenity of my business.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, Tea and Crumpets. So Steve. Lookin’ good, baby. Who’d _you_ have to fuck to get your foot in the door here?”

“Mr. Rumlow, I’ll thank you to remove yourself from this fitting room. This is a private session.”

Rumlow wasn’t having any of that, and Steve felt his stomach lurch and turn over. He was suddenly grateful they hadn’t ordered any food yet, because he wasn’t going to be able to keep it down, coming face to face with Brock Rumlow again after all these years.

“You know you don’t mean that, Mont-gomery,” Rumlow emphasized the syllables. “My friend would not be happy if you didn’t treat me right.”

“Your ‘friend’ is behind on his bills, and I will be handing him over to collections shortly, Mr. Rumlow. Don’t presume you have any influence here. You’re an opportunist and a grifter, in my opinion. Not a kind word for anyone, and never a whiff of appreciation. Why your sugar daddy puts up with you, much less funds your rise through society is beyond me. But I imagine that’s over now, isn’t it? Now that Mr. Pierce’s fortunes have reversed.”

“What the fuck d’you know about it, Limey?” Rumlow snarled, practically bearing teeth.

“A tailor is privy to many secrets. A gentleman never tells.”

The laugh that Rumlow barked was ugly and mean.

Steve felt himself curling in on himself, trying to be smaller. Trying to shrink from Rumlow and his perpetual meanness, his cruelty. He glanced over and saw Bucky still sitting there, no longer wrapped up in his phone, but coiled, poised for … for a _fight_. Gone was the beautiful boy with the brilliant smile. In his place sat the dangerous man who’d served his country with distinction, who’d led men into battle. And he was waiting for Rumlow to make a move into the fitting room.

And of course, Rumlow couldn’t resist. “You ain’t here by yourself, Rogers. You and your hippie Mom don’t have enough to rub two fucking cents together. So who’s _your_ sugar daddy, huh? Who you shtupping for presents and favors, huh?”

He pushed his way into the fitting room and rounded on the alcove where Bucky sat silently. He practically purred at the sight of Bucky, gorgeous, famous, rich. Brock immediately went into flirt mode, no doubt angling to catch himself a new benefactor if his old one was going down the drain. Brock was mean and he was cruel, but he wasn’t very intelligent or observant if he thought Bucky hadn’t heard everything that came before. The air was positively toxic as Rumlow sidled up to Bucky, his hand reaching to touch Bucky, caress him, as he obviously thought he could supplant Steve as Bucky’s paramour. 

Bucky’s flesh arm shot out and caught Rumlow’s wrist in the circle of thumb and forefinger. Even without the strength behind the prosthetic, that had to hurt. Steve let a smile play around the corners of his mouth. He spared a glance for Monty, who watched the trainwreck with rapt fascination. And not a little glee as Bucky shoved Rumlow’s hand back into his chest, forcing him to backpedal as he surged to his feet.

“I didn’t tell you you could touch me,” Bucky growled, his voice low, gravelly. Dangerous. He took a step forward. Rumlow took a faltering step back, then shifted forward again, laying on what he thought was charm..

“Ah, c’mon baby, I can make it really, really good for you. Better than old Stevie here. He tell you about me? About how I dumped his ass. His ass that anyone could have. I don’t like sloppy seconds, so I hadda let ‘im go.”

“ _You_ let _him_ go? You’re stupider than you look, and that’s saying something. So you’re Alexander Pierce’s boy toy? You’ll fuck anything with money, then, huh? Man’s one step away from jail for pedophilia. And not even a step up from the garbage he lets pile up in his tenements. Slumlord and molester. You come with a great pedigree. No thanks. Now haul your skanky, used up ass out of here. This is a private session for my _fiancé_.”

Steve was aghast at Bucky’s assertion, and Monty visibly paled at the realization he’d been coming on to one of his best customer’s fiancé. Steve shot him a, “no harm, no foul” shrug, and he seemed a bit mollified.

“Fiancé. _Fiancé?_ You’re marrying this fucker? Ink won’t even be dry on your license and he’ll have his feet on the ceiling for a pretty cock from your reception. Steve here is what we call a slut. Can’t do without it. Needs a cock up his ass 24/7.”

“You must not’ve kept him satisfied if he had to go lookin’ for it,” Bucky sneered, and Steve couldn’t help the swelling in his chest. Bucky may be acting a role, but his heart really needed to hear Bucky say that he wasn’t what Brock claimed he was.

And they’d broken up – Brock had dumped him – _before_ he hooked up with his best friend, Jack Rollins. Not that it was a much to write home about, more a pity fuck than anything. But still.

Not like he’d imagine making love with Bucky would be. He couldn’t imagine ever feeling anything like pity for Bucky Barnes.

And right now, he felt pride, joy, lust, and definitely a buttload of love for the man.

None of them had noticed Monty moving toward the table set against the wall of the fitting room. No one had seen him press a little button under the table. So no one was prepared for when a beautiful black man, as tall as Steve and Bucky, but bulkier, thicker, came into the room, focus narrowed on the back of Rumlow’s greasy head.

“That’ll be enough of that,” he announced calmly in a honey-glazed baritone.

“Fuck off, n–“ Rumlow didn’t get the chance to say anything nastier. Bucky hauled back with his right hand, balling it into a fist faster than Steve could track, and popped him one, right in the nose. A sickening crack, a spatter of blood hitting the floor followed, punctuated by the animal howl of pain and fury from Rumlow.

Monty arched his eyebrow and shook his head. “Thank you, Gabriel. Would you care to press charges, Mr. Barnes?” he asked mildly.

“Charges?”

“Assault, of course. We saw everything – Mr. Rumlow was completely out of line the way he assaulted you. You simply had to strike him to defend yourself.”

“I, uh, I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?”

Monty looked genuinely disappointed, but he shook his head. “Perhaps not. Gabriel, have Jacques attend to sterilization here, full hazmat protocol. And Jim can give Mr. Pierce a call to let him know his custom is no longer welcome here. I trust you can take out the trash?”

Gabriel smiled a slow, feral smile, and then suddenly pivoted to frog-march Rumlow out of the space, still holding his bleeding nose, still bellowing obscenities that they’d all managed to simply ignore while Monty took charge.

“Now, let’s get you away from this unpleasantness. I promised you lunch, did I not? Let’s get that taken care of while Jacques arranges clean-up. I think Dum-Dum has the menus. Shall we?”

“Not that he didn’t deserve that, but you can bet that’s not the last you’ve heard of Brock Rumlow, Buck. He’s an asshole and a creep, but he doesn’t give up easy,” Steve told Bucky as they exited the fitting room to follow Monty out to review the menu and order lunch. “He’s gonna do something awful.”

Bucky slung his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulled him into a tight sort of hug. “We’ll deal with it together, Steve.” Then he pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple, and Steve thought he was going to literally swoon.

&&&

As soon as they were done at the fitting, Bucky took Steve back to his place, where he held him as Steve let loose the tears of anger and frustration – and yes, hurt – that seeing Brock that way triggered. He’d never seen Brock as the love of his life, not even as a very good fuck buddy (Brock was actually not very good in bed, with a humiliation kink – delivering it – that bordered on sociopathic). But hearing him say those things just brought back all of Steve’s insecurities, the pain of rejection, the doubts and self-loathing that had been so much a part of him when he’d been with Brock.

So Bucky held Steve and rocked him, murmuring encouragement, kind words, little jokes, until Steve had let his emotions run their course and he could get on with things. He was immeasurably grateful that Bucky didn’t seem to give Brock’s words any credence – or if he did, they didn’t bother him.

Tony, on the other hand, was bothered. When Bucky had called him – on speakerphone – to warn him of what could be a shitstorm, Tony had immediately announced he’d be invoking the Stark legal brain trust to ensure that Rumlow didn’t get far. While they were on the phone, Tony started having Rumlow investigated because a) he’s a douche, and b) no one picks on his people without retribution. Tony had a flair for multitasking, that was certain. The fact that he could fold Alexander Pierce into the dirt hunt only made the deal sweeter. At least that’s what he told Steve and Bucky when he informed them that there was not a thing to worry about. Bucky defending the honor of the man he loved only added to the mystique, the legend they were building.

When they got back to Steve’s place, Sash was fit to bust she was so angry, and it was everything that Fred could do to calm her down enough so she didn’t make herself sick. Unlike Tony or Bucky, Sash remembered what Steve was like when he was dating Brock, and how shattered he was when it ended.

Because sure enough, Rumlow had ended up with an exclusive with TMZ, spilling the beans on what a terrible person Steve was, and how he had to be in it for the money, because there wasn’t a monogamous bone in his body. They’d lasted only a few weeks, but Brock couldn’t trust Steve not to spread his legs for any good looking, well-hung gym rat who waved his dick at Steve.

Tony sent them both a snapchat where he was rubbing his hands with glee. Because Rumlow just stepped in it in a big way, besmirching Steve’s good name on syndicated television. The lawyers were already drawing up the lawsuit.

By the next morning, Tony had Bucky scheduled to appear on one of the morning infotainment news shows. The topic, of course, was Steve, and Bucky pulled him into the interview. Steve was terrified, but Bucky was adamant that he stay on camera. Bucky pointed out that Steve broke up with Rumlow, not the other way around, and because of Rumlow’s abusive treatment. And that Rumlow was trying to get into Bucky’s pants until Bucky shut him down and told him he and Steve were engaged. 

The interviewer was thrilled to break an exclusive, demanded to see the ring. Bucky told her that the rings are being specially made, since rings and his metal prosthetic don’t necessarily go together. It was something special, being made just for them. The interviewer asked if Steve was excited, and he could only stare at Bucky, holding his hand and smiling broadly as he announced to the world, not just a coupla guys in a fitting room, that they were engaged. It kinda made it official, didn’t it, even if Bucky hadn’t actually asked him, even if they hadn’t talked about it at all. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” he admitted softly. “I’m the luckiest guy ever.”

“Pretty sure that honor falls to me, baby,” Bucky said back, his face soft and sappy as the interviewer and the audience caroled a collective, “Awwwww.” Bucky leaned over and brushed his lips softly against Steve’s, and Steve lifted his face to the kiss, closing his eyes, and letting it happen. When Bucky shifted back in his seat, releasing Steve’s lips, he was still sitting with his face upturned, his eyes closed, and his lips buzzing with energy from Bucky’s kiss. They’d kissed so much, so often over the past few weeks, Steve thought he knew all of Bucky’s kisses. But this one was different. This one was new and fresh and just birthed into the world. 

This one was special.

And the audience knew it, a susurration of in-drawn breaths, muttering, cooing, and a smattering of applause cycling through the audience as they realized there was something remarkable about that kiss as well.

The interviewer was speaking again, giddy, nearly giggling with excitement. And Bucky’s hand squeezed Steve’s as he answered, “As soon as possible, I hope. But of course, I have a film to promote first. We’re gonna be doing a global press tour. And Steve here is coming with me. Aren’t you, baby?”

Steve opened his eyes and looked at Bucky, who watched him expectantly. He felt reality wash over him like frigid water from the Hudson in January.

Right. The press tour. The reason Steve was here. 

_His job._

Bucky was a consummate actor, better than Steve had ever suspected. Better than his fans could ever understand.

And Steve had almost let himself believe it was real. He wanted it so badly to be real.

But.

He nodded, smiling for the camera.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Buck.”

Bucky smiled back at him, his eyes warm, crinkling around the corners. 

Real? Or not real?

Steve knew what he wanted, but in that moment, he was afraid all the want in the world wasn’t going to be enough.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm not a big fan of warnings, but this chapter did have some abusive language and slurs, and an attempt by Rumlow to slut-shame Steve. Steve still has some lingering insecurity after the abusive period of his life that was Rumlow.
> 
> And being a sexual person in a relationship that isn't really a relationship, Steve is feeling restless. I don't blame him. For all he knows, his fidelity is pointless. But he can't help himself. It's Bucky, after all.
> 
> I guess I should explain that I'm a lot more like Bucky in this story than I am like Steve. I actually envy people who are in touch with their sexual side, who can enjoy sex and let go. Who feel attraction and can act on it. I feel attraction, but it's more something that builds up over time. And I'm touch averse, so that complicates things. Bucky's not touch averse, just not as sexually oriented as Steve, more ace.
> 
> Someone mentioned about Bucky trying to be a dom when Steve goes into subspace after the feeding incident. I actually didn't intend that. Bucky has no interest in being a dom, but he is interested in taking care of Steve. He's so bad at reading cues and body language when it comes to sexual arousal because he doesn't experience that the same way, he feels responsible for leading Steve on. So in his mind, he's got a responsibility because he didn't understand the rules of the game, but went ahead and played anyway.
> 
> Anyway, I know that's not the nicest place to leave a chapter, but it's the place that makes sense. The next chapter is in the works and might be up this weekend. We'll see. And yes, the reveal is coming. And no one has guessed what it is, which is both fascinating and exciting to me as a writer. I really hope it will end up being a surprise but something that makes sense. It makes sense to me ... :)
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful comments. I am thoroughly enjoying writing this story. Truth be told, I enjoy all the stories I write. Writing gives me great pleasure, and writing these idiots only makes it sweeter. And very shortly I'm going to start drawing them, too.
> 
> And I wouldn't mind another comment or two for this chapter, if you feel like leaving one ... :)
> 
> Thank you, as ever, for reading.


	13. Stairways and Elevators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Rumlow crisis and Bucky's unexpected announcement on network television sparks an unexpected reaction in Steve.
> 
> Let's just say that there are actual words said between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those chapters where a random piece fell into place, and the next thing I knew, the whole thing hung together in one beautifully coherent ball. And thank you, dhitchc, for your comment about Clint. It reminded me that there are other characters in this story who need to have their tales told as well, so I hope you enjoy Clint's return. Yeah, I agree, I'm a little bit in love with Clint as I've written him here. 
> 
> I'm really quite pleased with how this chapter came out. I hope you will be, too.

After the interview, they stuck around the studio so Bucky could sign autographs and the staffers could congratulate the happy couple. Steve kept a smile on his face, even as he felt like he was dying inside. As they came out of the building, there were more fans waiting, this time actual Bucky Barnes fans who’d seen him on TV and wanted to meet him personally. He agreed to do selfies and sign autographs, and when several of the girls asked to have a picture of Steve and Bucky together, Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve, silently asking permission. Steve smiled and nodded, and then there were more photos, more poses, a few chaste kisses for the camera, and a bunch of selfies with fans male, female, and all the colors in between. He even got a few kisses on the cheek from some of them, and at least one slipped him their number.

“See? They love you,” Bucky beamed at him, then turned to his phone where he shot off a text.

A few minutes later, the limo pulled up, and Happy leapt out of the car to hold the door open for them both, because of course he would. He was as chipper and borderline sarcastic as ever, except when he reported to Steve how his Ma did at her early morning infusion.

“She’s resting now. Today’s session really knocked the stuffing outta her. They gave her Benedryl to deal with the nausea, pretty much put her right out.”

“She doesn’t react well to that, usually. They didn’t have somethin’ else t’give ‘er?”

“She didn’t say anything. I’ll know better next time. Sorry, Fred wasn’t with us today – said she had somethin’ on with Becca? I dropped her off at the station before taking Sash in for her infusion. Picked her up and dropped her off at your place before I came to get you two.”

“Oh, God, yeah. Becks did a thing with her kids, her patients – bring your Mom to work day. All the kids had to bring their Moms, or their Dads if they wanted, to show them off to each other. Becks is a pediatrician up the line in Mt. Kisco. She mostly works with kids with chronic diseases.”

“Like I was.”

“Yeah, like you were. So, yeah, Mom had to go do show and tell with Becks.” Bucky shook his head, grinning. “Damn, I’m sorry I missed that. Becks loves to embarrass Ma.”

Steve barked a laugh. “Yeah, maybe she caught it on her camera, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen Fred embarrassed. I didn’t think it was possible. Course, bein’ Ma’s best friend, she had to grow out of that early.”

Bucky chuckled as he nodded for Steve to get in the car, and in a moment they were sitting side by side in the cushy comfort of the limo, the sounds of the fans outside dulled to nothing. The car had superior sound dampening, and it was like being inside a bubble, cut off from the world.

“Where to, gents?” Happy asked through the passthrough. Bucky glanced at Steve, and Steve shrugged. 

“Let’s go back to my place. Let Sash rest for a while. We’ll uber over later. That okay with you, Steve?”

Steve nodded silently, and Happy snapped the passthrough shut and pulled out from the curb.

They’d barely travelled a city block before Steve couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“How public?”

“How public what?”

“How public is the break-up gonna be?”

“What break-up?’

“Buck, don’t lie to me. You announced on national television that we’re engaged. Fuckin’ engaged. That means people are gonna be expectin’ a wedding. Wedding planners, destination weddings, Brad Fucking Pitt and Angelina Goddamn Jolie on the guest list. We both know that ain’t gonna happen. So there’s gotta be a break-up.”

“I – uh. I never, I mean, I – um, shit, _no_. No break-up, Steve. Long engagement. It happens, right? Still? Romantic as fuck –“

“Why? Why a long engagement? My Ma is dying, Buck. It’d be romantic if we got married so she could live to see it. But we ain’t gettin’ married. We ain’t even real. We … ah, fuck,” he swore, shoving his fist in his mouth and turning away, willing the tears that burned at his eyes to just go the fuck away.

They didn’t listen. Instead, they trailed hot and salty down his cheeks as he gnawed on his knuckle, resolutely ignoring Bucky.

“What’s this about, Steve? I thought we were doin’ okay here. I thought … shit, I don’t know what I thought. Y’gotta tell me what you want, baby. I –“

Steve didn’t turn to face Bucky. Instead, he worried his thumbnail and spoke to the tinted window, letting the tears track down his cheeks. “That. I wanna be your baby. I want you to be mine. I want this to be real. You’re the best fucking boyfriend I’ve ever had, and it’s all an act. I don’t wanna act. I wanna be. I wanna be the person who makes your eyes light up, who makes you smile. Who wakes up next to you in the morning, who holds you when you go to sleep at night. I don’t wanna be just window dressing. I wanna be real.”

Bucky was silent for a long time, the absence of actual words attenuating, spinning out into the cosmos, spinning, spinning, spinning. Steve felt his heart break, shattered into millions of tiny pieces flung along the path of silence reaching out toward infinity.

And then, Bucky’s flesh hand, warm and real and full of life, closed over Steve’s hand, fingers curling under Steve’s palm, squeezing lightly.

“I didn’t know. I thought it was just me. I only asked you for an act. I didn’t plan on falling in love with you,” Bucky said in a voice as full of tears, of anguish and longing, as Steve’s own heart. “I didn’t think I could ask you for more, Steve. I’d give you anything, y’gotta know that. And I don’t ever wanna break up. I want to see you in the morning, I want the last thing I see at night to be your stupid dumb face. I want … I want so much, Steve. I don’t even understand half of what I want, but I want it with you –“

Steve turned slowly, his brow scrunched up in confusion and fear. Was he hearing this right? Was Bucky telling him he felt the same way? Or was Bucky still playing the part, telling Steve what he thought Steve wanted to hear?

“Are you telling me the truth now?” Bucky nodded solemnly. “You promise, this isn’t an act. There’s no fucking cameras here, Buck. I need to know – is this for real?” Again, Bucky nodded, his face serious and his gaze clear, sincere. How do you trust a consummate actor?

“I told you before I’d never felt like this about anyone before. I meant it. I didn’t think I could really feel love, not romantic love. I accepted that, I believed that’s just how I am and nothing was going to change it. I do love my friends, I love my family. But you, Steve. I think I love _you_. I think this is what love feels like. I can’t breathe without you. I can’t breathe when I’m around you. You make my heart hurt and you make it sing. You make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling. I don’t feel broken when I’m with you. I feel … I feel possible. Like something wonderful is about to happen. That’s what you make me feel. And I never wanna lose that feeling.”

Bucky’s hand released Steve’s and lifted to touch Steve’s cheek. He stroked his thumb over the trail of tears, rubbed the moisture between thumb and forefinger, and brought his fingers to his lips, extending the tip of his tongue to taste Steve’s tears.

“This is real,” he whispered in a voice full of awe and wonder. “I never thought I could have this, but if you want it, Steve, this is _real_.”

Steve whimpered and turned toward Bucky, grabbing his suitcoat by the lapels and hauling him closer to crash his mouth against Bucky’s. Bucky raised Steve’s whimper with a groan. Then Steve’s senses were flooded with Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. He was drunk on Bucky, and he never planned to be sober again.

&&&

Happy insisted on taking them directly to Bucky’s building, having taken evasive maneuvers to shake any paps who might have been on their tail. He didn’t trust the pair of them to find their way back otherwise. Nothing could really surprise him after years of working for Tony Stark, but Happy had to admit that he was pleased and surprised to see Mr. Barnes – Bucky – enthusiastically kissing Steve in the backseat of the limo. Kissing, hands roving, teeth nipping, lips sucking, groaning, panting, fucking whining for God’s sake. 

Happy had been tracking the progress of Bucky and Steve’s relationship since that first day at Virago. Steve had always seemed more openly interested in Bucky, but after driving Bucky for so many years since he and Tony first became friends, Happy had become somewhat expert in reading Bucky. Maybe even better than Bucky himself.

He’d watched how even on that first day, interest and attraction had flickered in Bucky’s eyes, both strange and wonderful considering their rarity. He’d chauffeured Bucky and any number of guests to countless events – red carpets, charity events, fan meet and greets, and just plain paparazzi baits. Bucky was always unfailingly polite, firm but kind in his rejection of sexual advances, and he always went home alone.

Until Steve.

With Steve, Bucky allowed himself casual touches, heated kisses, stolen glances, longing sighs when he thought Steve wasn’t paying attention. And maybe he hadn’t been, considering what Happy had heard through the intercom. Oh yes, he wasn’t above spying when it came to ensuring the well-being of his charges. He’d flicked it off when he’d heard Bucky’s declaration of something like love. But considering the expression on Steve’s face as they exited the studio. Happy needed to make sure he was prepared for damage control.

Now, he just had to make sure he got the pair of them into the building before they dropped trou and started going at it in the street.

Not that Bucky “went at it.” But glancing over his shoulder at the steamed up passthrough, at Steve straddling Bucky’s lap and kissing him for all he was worth – and getting kissed just as enthusiastically – something had clearly changed. Not just Bucky’s admission of feelings for Steve, but the fact that Bucky had those feelings at all.

He just hoped that when the sex pollen cleared, they were satisfied and at ease with their choices. He was rooting for the two idiots making out in his back seat.  
  


He commanded his phone to call Phil at Bucky’s apartment building, to let him know they were coming, and they were coming in hot. Phil would make sure there were no witnesses to Bucky and Steve’s arrival, and would ensure they were whisked up to Bucky’s floor without incident.

And then, Happy was going to report the glad tidings to Tony. Over a beer. And a slice. While he watched _Downton Abbey_ on Tony’s impossibly big TV screen.

Happy grinned. He loved a happy ending.

&&&

Bucky had never felt this way in his life.

He couldn’t get enough of Steve now that they’d admitted their very real feelings to each other.

He always loved kissing Steve, but now he could pour everything he felt, everything he wanted, into those kisses. And so could Steve.

And those kisses were fucking incendiary.

Bucky’s skin felt like it was on fire and three sizes too small all at the same time.

His stomach fluttered and quaked and leapt and trembled.

His hands shook as he ran them over the planes of Steve’s back, threading fingers in his hair, caressed his cheek.

Steve respected Bucky’s boundaries, and kept his hands above the waist, away from Bucky’s chest, but now … now, Bucky wanted Steve to touch him everywhere. He wanted to feel Steve, he wanted to know what giving himself to Steve felt like.

And yet.

But.

There was that thing.

And they had to talk about it.

But for now, Steve was kissing him. Really kissing him, totally fucking grokking kissing him, and he felt like he could lose himself in those kisses and never come up for air. As ways to die, it had its merits.

They tumbled out of the elevator, pinballing from wall to wall as they moved down the hall from the elevator bank, limbs tangling, lips claiming, hands roaming. 

It was glorious and heady and fucking terrifying. 

Bucky had never thought he’d experience this.

Now he needed it more than he needed air. He needed Steve in every way, even if he didn’t really grasp what that meant. He needed to show Steve how much he was so on-board for today and tomorrow and next year and their whole fucking lives.

“Jesus, Barnes, you shove your tongue any further down Steve’s throat, it’s comin’ out his asshole. Oh, but maybe that’s a good thing.”

Fucking Clint.

Steve and Bucky broke apart reluctantly, breathlessly, and Bucky wiped his mouth with the back of his flesh hand. “Clint, what the actual fuck?” he gasped, his chest heaving with effort and desire. And lack of air. He still hadn’t worked out the technique of breathing through his nose while kissing Steve senseless. But he had plenty of opportunity to practice in his future, with a very willing instructor.

“Clint. ‘Sup?” Steve greeted, trying to look nonchalant, but the rosy cast of his skin, the spiky mess of his hair, the kiss-swollen, spit-slicked look of his lips gave everything away. Every fucking thing.

“I haven’t seen you for weeks, Barnes. You neither, Steve. I was worried. Well, Nat was worried. You know how she gets. And yo, Buck – congrats,” he nodded toward Bucky’s very obvious, very healthy thank you very much, and very not going away on its own erection. “Congrats to you both, huh. And you, too, little guy. I guess I’m gonna miss you the most,” he grinned crouching down to talk to Bucky’s dick.

“Buck, why is Clint talking to your dick?”

“I sucked it in college. It and I have a special relationship,” Clint explained, grinning as he stood up again.

“You really don’t, Clint.”

“No one else laid claim to it, so I did.”

“You sucked it twice, dude. And both times you gagged and ran to wash your mouth out. D’you have any idea what it feels like when someone sucks your cock and they’ve still got mouthwash in their mouth, Barton? It feels like somebody lit a stick of dynamite and shoved it up your dick. It fucking hurts.”

“You never told me that –“

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings –“

“Clint sucked your dick? You won’t let me, but you let _Clint_ suck your dick?”

“To be fair, it was in the interest of science,” Clint protested mildly. “I needed to know.”

“Know what?” Steve demanded, and it was clear that the admission that Clint had gotten to do something that Steve wanted to do but was denied really fuckin’ bothered him.

“If I was gay. Or bi. I needed to know. So Buck here agreed to let me try.”

“And?”

“And I really fucking hate the taste of cock. I dunno how you do it, Steve. It’s like … ugh. Gimme pussy any day. That I can get into. But cock? Yeah, no.”

“Then how come you’ve been so fucking nostalgic about my dick for the past 15 years, Barton?”

“it pissed you off.”

“Wait, but why did you let him suck you off?” Steve wanted to know, rounding on Bucky, his eyes clear and blue, and the dusky shade of his aroused skin fading to normal. So yeah, thanks Clint for ruining the mood.

“I had to know,” Bucky shrugged. “I had to know if I would react to it.”  
  


“And did you?”

Bucky nodded. “I came, both times. It was nice. Messy, but nice. I’m not big on the messy. But yeah, that’s something I can do if I have to.”

“If you have to.”

“If it’s something you’ve got your heart set on, I can deal.”

“Deal.”

“Geeze, this conversation is getting way too existential for me,” Clint announced. “Well, now that I know you’re both alive and on your way to do something I don’t think I want to know all the details on, I guess it’s time for me to exit stage left,” he added, moving toward the elevator

“Wait, that’s it? That’s all, just verification of life?”

“Yeah. Oh, that and Nat and I are engaged. I asked her last night. I wanted you to be the first to know. After her, of course. And hey, congrats to you, too. Saw you on the thing this morning. Talk about whirlwind, but fuck, you guys seem like you were made for each other.”

“Sex addict and ace,” Steve summed up for him.

“Two great guys who like sucking each other’s faces. There’s been an electric current running through you two since the day of the shoot. And shit, Steve, why you always have to put yourself down, huh? You’re not a fucking sex addict. You just like sex, and that’s okay.”

“That’s what I said,” Bucky agreed with Clint.

“And I really don’t need to know how you’re gonna make this work, but I’m really glad you’re gonna. So I’ll let you get to it. Oh – engagement party next Friday at Asgard’s. You don’t show, Nat will hunt you down and skin you alive, then wear you like a suit. It’ll be ugly, and you don’t want ugly when it comes to Nat. So, laters!”

And with a waggle of his fingers, Clint loped off down the hall and punched the down button on the elevator, leaving Bucky and Steve to start at him, mouths agape.

“He is the most random dude I know,” Steve breathed, shaking his head.

“He’s been my best friend since grade school. I owe that crazy fucked up man more than I can ever repay. More than I could repay with a thousand lifetimes,” Bucky said fervently, stepping into Steve’s space again, twining their fingers together as he nosed along Steve’s jaw.

“What could you possibly owe him that much for?” Steve asked, turning so he could ghost his lips across Bucky’s, breathe the same air as Bucky, and feel the heat of his body washing over his skin.

“He introduced me to you, baby. And that’s a debt I could never repay.”

“Got the key? I need … I need whatever you’re willing to give me, Bucky. I’m ready to give you whatever you’ll take from me.”

With a rumbling growl, Bucky tilted his face to slot his lips over Steve’s, and he kissed him, enthusiastically, filthily, lovingly.

“Let’s find out what that is, shall we?” he whispered huskily, stepping out of Steve’s space just enough to get the key into the lock and turn it. Then they fell through the door, Steve kicking it closed behind them.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. That happened.
> 
> And more is happening in the next chapter.
> 
> And there's the reveal coming, solving the mystery of Sash and Fred. I'm hoping it will be in the next chapter. My plan is for it to be in the next chapter. I never feel I can promise anything because I never know when Bucky is going to take over and take my story in a direction I hadn't planned. But right now? The next chapter is where you're gonna wanna be. And I hope to have it posted in the next couple of days.
> 
> So ... what'd you think? :)


	14. Up On the Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the truth is finally revealed, exposing old pain, old fears.
> 
> Also, there's some smut. Yes, the rating went up. It's not wildly graphic, but I think it qualifies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was really difficult to write, both emotionally and logistically. This is not a normal pair of hot guys who gleefully pound each other into the mattress. So it took some thinking and some care to come up with a way for them to be intimate and still respect Bucky's boundaries. I really, really hope I've done it justice. There's more me in this chapter than I expected, to be honest. As I was writing it, I realized that my past sexual experiences have had far too much, "You should like this," and not enough, "What do you want?" And that may be in large part why I've shied away from sexual experiences.
> 
> Anyway, so that was hard. And then there's the reveal. I figured out that this needed to happen a number of weeks ago, but the family unit needed to be in a relatively explosive place for the truth to come out. Secrets are awful things - once you hold them for a while, you really have a hard time seeing how you can let them go. And they have a way of sucking your life out in the process. We'll see how well this family unit fares once the truth is laid bare.

Steve was in over his head, that he knew, and he didn’t fucking care. No, scratch that, he cared, God, how he cared. He wanted to make this good for Bucky, to give him pleasure without bumping into any of his triggers, but he really wasn’t sure how. He knew how to give his partner pleasure, knew a hundred, a thousand ways to do it. But which ones were right for a man who didn’t feel arousal and lust the same way Steve did?

Which ones were the right way to say I love you, I need you, I want you, without freaking him out?

Any other lover, and Steve would have ripped his clothes off, spent a cursory few seconds stretching himself, and he’d be riding his cock to orgasm already.

Any other lover, and he wouldn’t have thought twice about whether or not that was the right move to make.

Any other lover was never going to be good enough for Steve Rogers again, now he’d found Bucky. Now he knew Bucky wanted him as much as he wanted Bucky. Even if they didn’t quite know how that was going to work yet.

Bucky was sitting on the couch, enthusiastically swapping spit with Steve straddling his thighs, sliding his fingers slid through the soft strands of Bucky’s hair, still longish and not yet trimmed for the press tour. Steve’s other hand stroked along the stubble of Bucky’s jaw, down his throat, caressing, grounding. Bucky’s hands kneaded against the muscles of Steve’s back, sliding up and down and pausing periodically to dig into the muscle, into the flesh, drawing out tension and replacing it with a delicious kind of warm, like a low heat on the stove.

Hands had not moved below the belt.

Hands had not strayed to the chest.

Cocks were not grinding against each other. In fact, there was a respectable distance between said cocks, and Steve felt like he’d die if he didn’t get his hand around Buck’s thick, long dick again. But that first time … it was a hard no for Bucky. So Steve would deal.

_Deal._

Yeah, now Bucky’s words made sense. This was a negotiation, like kink. Okay, he could do that. In fact, a checklist made a great idea. So long as just looking at the checklist didn’t undo all the good Steve hoped to accomplish … fuck.

What they were doing felt … well, it felt amazing. Steve honestly couldn’t remember ever kissing anyone who could make him feel so … ablaze … as Bucky Barnes did when he kissed him.

Steve wondered if he could cum just from kissing Bucky. He had a really strong feeling he could. And he just might if they kept it up long enough.

He’d really like to see if that could happen, actually.

Would that be too messy for Bucky?

Jesus, they didn’t even talk the same sexual language! 

As if Bucky was actually reading Steve’s mind, his hands slid down Steve’s sides and came to rest on the jut of his hipbones, resting there as Bucky pulled back gently from Steve’s kisses. “Steve, baby, we gotta talk.”

Steve nodded, and rested his forehead against Bucky’s, just breathing, calming himself for the conversation he knew they had to have before they went any further.

“You know you turn me on, right?”

Steve sat up and glanced down at the impressive tent in Bucky’s pants. “Yeah, I’m catchin’ on,” Steve answered with a smile.

“You have no idea how rare that is. Just lookin’ at you has me hot and bothered, and I’m thinkin’ stuff I never think. Kissin’ you like this … knowin’ how you feel about me, knowin’ I’m not alone in this … God, Steve. I’ve never felt like this about anyone else, ever. I didn’t think I could. I think I wanna do a lot of stuff with you, but … we gotta take it slow. I need to work up to it. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“I’ll do anything for you, Buck,” Steve commited with an impassioned tone.

“An’ I wanna give you what you need, too, baby. I know you love sex. I know you really enjoy getting to cum. So we need to figure out a way to make that happen where you get what you need, and I don’t get the stuff I don’t like.”

“Right. What don’t you like?”

“Fucking. Anal. And I don’t like oral.”

“Giving or receiving?”

“Both.”

“Okay. I happen to love both, but I can deal. Never? You’ve never liked getting your dick sucked?”

“It’s okay. I just … I told you, I don’t like messy.”

“You don’t like cumming, is that it?”  
  


“I don’t like getting it all over. I don’t like it oozing out of places.

“Okay. So … what if I swallow?”

“Swallow.”

“Your cum. Nothin’ oozin’ out of anywhere.”

“You’ll swallow my cum, it’ll be in your mouth.”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t want to kiss you again until you washed your mouth out.”

“Okay, so no on the cum sharing, or tasting yourself on my tongue.” The expression that Bucky made would have been adorable if it weren’t a reaction to two things that Steve kind of enjoyed. Okay, scratch those off the to-do list.

“What about a hand job? Can I hold your dick? Can I jerk you off?”

“I mean, it feels good, but again, messy.”

“How about wearing a condom? I mean, I wanna be able to touch your skin. I wanna feel you dick in my hand. But we can put a condom on you before you cum so it doesn’t get all over.” Bucky’s eyes widened, and he smiled, nodding with a bit of enthusiasm.

So, yeah, marking was right off the table. But yay, Steve scored cock-sucking and hand jobs for Team SexFiend.

“So, um, if you’re open to that, wearing a condom, I could maybe try to return the favor. The hand, I mean. I don’t think I could suck it, not yet anyway.”

The conversation continued in that vein, Steve proposing things he liked, Bucky providing things he didn’t, examining them together to see if there was a compromise they could agree on that would allow them both to get what they wanted out of the encounter.

Ardor cooled as understanding grew. They exchanged soft kisses, gentle touches, grounding squeezes, giggles, chuckles, frowns, and smiles. Steve slid off Bucky’s thighs and cuddled into his side, throwing his legs over Bucky’s, tangling their limbs comfortably for a while. Later, they shifted again, and Bucky’s head rested in Steve’s lap while Steve carded his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I like that,” Bucky said after they’d fallen into silence for a while. “It feels really good. Better than I would have expected. I think because it’s _you_ doin’ it.”

“Cool. Maybe we can try to expand on that. You like my hands in your hair. How about you sit up and let me massage your shoulders? You haven’t minded when I take care of the arm when you take off the prosthetic. Maybe we can build on that. And then maybe we can move from there to other places.”

“Still trying to get into my shirt, huh, baby?”

“You got a beautiful chest, Buck. Your pecs are perfect. And I _am_ a fan of nipples.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, but he did sit up and turn so his back and shoulders where right where Steve wanted them. So Steve did what he wanted most – he laid hands on Bucky, and started to stroke and knead his warm, firm flesh. It might not have been exactly the flesh he wanted to be stroking, but it was a start.

The afternoon proceeded quietly, calmly, that way. Conversation, quiet, testing limits, finding a sweet spot or a hard no, discussion, more experimentation, a bit of arousal on Bucky’s part, a struggle to maintain control for Steve, on and on as the afternoon wore away. Finally, they were stretched out on the couch, Bucky on top of Steve, kissing and touching and breathing each other in. Steve could not remember a more perfect day than learning what Bucky liked and didn’t like, mapping his body and his psyche with gentleness and love. But now, Steve could feel the hard outline of Bucky’s erection pressing into his thigh, and he knew that Bucky had to feel the rock-hard wood he was sporting as well.

“Buck, why don’t we move this to the bedroom, huh? If you’re ready?” Steve asked, looking up into Bucky’s eyes and smoothing away his wild hair. He tilted his face up to place a tiny kiss on the tip of Bucky’s nose. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

“I wanna try.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And that’s how Steve found himself holding Bucky’s hand as they walked toward his bedroom and the big king sized bed with enough room for Steve to share, exchanging unhurried kisses and smiles full of promise.

&&&

In the end, they agreed on frottage, with condoms, with underwear. Just boxers for Bucky, briefs for Steve. All other skin was exposed and on display. Bucky had debated about his prosthetic, and Steve had told him he was beautiful either way, but to do what felt right, felt comfortable. Bucky opted to keep the prosthetic on, just in case he felt the urge to hold Steve while they made love. So Bucky laid on his back, a pillow under his hips to bring his dick up higher, and a comfortable nest of pillows around his shoulders and head. He looked up at Steve with wonder and trepidation, trust and fear. Love. There were lifetimes lived in his eyes, and Steve felt awed and humbled by it. 

It wasn’t the oddest sexual encounter Steve had ever had, but it was, he was certain, the most important. 

He’d braced himself like he was going to do push-ups, with just his groin touching Bucky’s. By now, both of them were fully hard, which Bucky said he rarely got. In fact, he honestly couldn’t remember ever being this hard, this fully erect. He brushed his lips across Steve’s and told him that it was because for the first time, his heart and his body were in synch. Steve pressed into the kiss, and did an undulating body roll to bring his cock into alignment with Bucky’s while not pressing their chests together, even as they lazily kissed. 

As a way to keep Steve firmly in the moment, it was working. He was trying to be cognizant of Bucky’s limits, his no-zones, which meant he wasn’t getting lost in sensation, in a haze of lust. He was fully aware of Bucky at all times, watching for clues, listening to his breathing, feeling for his reactions. It was difficult, having so little skin contact, to gauge his reactions, so Steve had to rely on more senses than just touch to track Bucky’s responses.

It was strange and wonderful at the same time. He couldn’t remember ever paying so much attention to a lover before, and having a lover so focused on him. Not that Steve wasn’t a generous lover – he was. His relationships never lasted because there was always something missing in them, some element that anchored him to the person he was with so the relationship could grow.

With a shock, Steve realized that the missing element was Bucky.

Just like for Bucky, the missing element allowing him to fully engage in sex was Steve.

They were literally made for each other.

Steve had been searching his whole life for his “other half.” Bucky had been searching for someone to help him feel “whole.”

An accident had brought them together. If Clint hadn’t called that day, hell, if Bucky hadn’t decided to do that shoot … Steve might never have the opportunity to look into the stormy horizon of Bucky’s eyes, might never have heard him groan with pleasure as Steve dragged his hard, clothed cock repeatedly against Bucky’s, might never have tasted the sweetness of his lips, or the salt of his skin.

An accident brought them together. Nothing would ever drive them apart. 

Making a solemn vow within himself, Steve focused on bringing Bucky closer to the edge, snapping his hips and slowing again to stroke his dick against Bucky’s, grinding down on Bucky’s groin, smiling to himself when Bucky’s own hips lifted to meet him, chasing the sensation, chasing pleasure. Then Bucky’s hands were stroking at Steve’s sides, sliding around his back and pulling him down, down until they were pressed together, forehead to lips to chests to groins to knees, legs tangling, hips pistoning, cocks gliding, nipples rubbing, lips kissing and tongues dueling. All Steve’s concerns about overwhelming Bucky with too much sensation were instantly jettisoned when Bucky himself demanded the contact, groaning, panting, keening, gasping with pleasure, Steve’s name dropping from his lips, little pleas for more, faster, harder, oh my God Steve, is _this_ what it’s supposed to feel like?

Steve was floating. Steve was soaring. He was the one who brought Bucky to this. And Bucky was laughing, tears streaming down his face as he gasped and uh-uh-uhed his way to taut and sudden stillness, head thrown back, eyes wide and unseeing, mouth frozen open in an endless exclamation of joy. Steve felt his hand move between them grasping Bucky’s cock through his boxers, and stroking him to completion as he paused, suspended over Bucky’s body, watching rapt as Bucky came undone in a full body orgasm.

Steve felt like he’d seen the face of God, and felt himself empty into the condom.

Bucky seemed to have passed out a little with the enormity of it all, but Steve came back to himself pretty quickly. He slid off the bed and trotted into the en suite, where he got a washcloth and wetted it with warm water. Then he dashed out to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of bottles of water. Bucky was still out of it when he came back, so he just got to work carefully sliding Buck’s condom off and tying the end to drop into the trash. Then he wiped him down gently with the warm wet cloth, making sure he was clean before he patted his dick – nice dick! he grinned to himself – with a soft dry towel. Then he tucked Bucky’s cock back in his boxers, and set about cleaning himself up.

Bucky was blinking groggily then, watching him through the shield of his damp eyelashes. “’S’nice. I never thought I c’d enjoy havin’ someone touch me there. But ‘s’nice when you do it,” he murmured.

Steve looked at him and smiled. “I think I know why.”

“I never felt anythin’ like that, Steve. I know it’s not the sex you wanted, but … fuck, it was amazin’. I … I wouldn’t mind tryin’ that again,” he added with a grin.

“I wouldn’t mind, either. Anything you want, baby.” He tossed the cloth and towel aside, and reached for the water bottles. “C’mon, have a drink. Gettin’ laid dehydrates people for some reason.” He twisted off the cap and held the bottle to Bucky’s lips, and Bucky lifted his head up and wrapped those sinful lips around the bottle opening and drank. Then the corner of his mouth quirked up and Steve lifted the bottle away. “Don’t think you’re gonna get waited on every time we have sex, Buck. I call dibs on breakfast in bed.”

“I can handle that,” Bucky said with a satisfied smile. “You’re too far away,” he added, wriggling a little into the bed. “Come closer. Cuddle with me.”

Steve grinned broadly at that. Cuddling was actually one of his all-time favorite activities, but too often, his sexual partners wanted to roll over and sleep after a good fuck, or were either on their way out the door, or were kicking Steve out. 

But with Bucky, he got to have mind-blowing sex, kisses that left him floating, and cuddles, too.

He happily curled into Bucky’s side, resting his cheek against his chest, arm flung over Bucky’s mid-section to draw him close.

“That was … incredible. Beautiful. To me, at least. Not just sex, but somethin’ special. How’re you feelin’?” he asked softly.

Bucky’s arm curled around Steve’s shoulders, his thumb tracing patterns up and down Steve’s arm while he paused for a moment, thinking. “Like … like I could do anything when I’m with you, like I’m finally whole, finally home. I think … I really do think this is what love feels like.”

Steve shifted so he rested his chin on his fist where it sat in the middle of Bucky’s chest, in the dip of his pecs. His other hand rested gently on Bucky’s left pec, fingers splayed. His expression was soft and full of wonder. “Yeah? You feel that? In your heart, I mean?”

Bucky nodded slowly, his eyes wide and vulnerable. His tongue slid out and tentatively licked across his lower lip as he looked directly into Steve’s eyes, waiting.

“Good, ‘cos I feel it, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I love you, jerk.”

“That’s good. ‘Cos I love you, too, punk.”

&&&

It was dusk by the time Steve and Bucky ubered over to Steve’s house. The air between them had fundamentally changed, and their touches were easy, confident, natural. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and they couldn’t stop smiling. Or stealing little kisses from each other. Was such a thing stolen, though, when it was freely given?

Steve was letting himself in when the door opened, revealing Bucky’s Mom. “Sash is sleeping right now, in the living room. I couldn’t get her up to her room, she’s so out of it.”

“Happy said. Gave her Benedryl. Shouldn’t that have worn off by now?” Steve asked, coming into the entryway with Bucky in tow. Fred shushed them and encouraged them to stay put so they could talk, out of earshot of Sash in the living room.

“Big dose, plus intravenous, and that drug. Hits her harder. I got some soup into her, but I’ve been worried, so I didn’t start on dinner yet. We could order in if y’like –“

“We’ll make dinner, Ma. You rest. Right, Steve? Let’s make somethin’ special for our Moms.”

“I understand there’s cause for celebration, but I didn’t expect to hear from your sister that she saw it on TV,” Fred said suddenly, glaring at her youngest child and only son.

“Ah,” Bucky said, turning back to face the wrath of Winifred Theresa Barnes. “The show this morning.”

“The show this morning. I didn’t get to see it because of Becks’ thing, but Chrissy saw it. She sent me the YouTube link. So I watched it with Sash.”

“How’d she react?” Steve asked quietly.

“I think she was happy. She wants you to be happy, Steve. That’s her dearest wish. But she fell asleep before we could talk about it. Are you? Happy, Steve?”

Steve glanced at Bucky, his hand reached for Bucky’s just as Bucky reached for him. “Never been happier, Fred. Hit the lottery here.”

“Jamie?”

“Same, Ma. Can’t imagine a better future than the one I get to share with Steve.”

And it was true. Fred beamed at them then, a broad smile full of warmth and light and only a hint of sadness, remembered pain. “Well, on with ya – let’s see what you do can in a kitchen, huh?”

&&&

They quickly agreed that they couldn’t make anything to compete with Sash’s beef stroganoff, but they could manage something tasty, carb-loaded, and quick. Sash was going to need to refuel once the meds wore off and she was functioning again.

So, spaghetti and meatballs it was. With salad and garlic bread. 

Steve was in charge of pasta and salad, while Bucky formed hamburger into frighteningly perfect little spheres, and had a bunch of them sizzling nicely in a skillet in a pool of burgundy. Bucky grabbed a loaf of bread from the fridge, sliced it up, and arranged the slices on a cookie sheet. He mashed a couple of cloves of fresh garlic, and set the resulting puree to simmer on low heat with a healthy chunk of butter. 

“Might wanna go easy on the garlic, Buck, or there’ll be no kisses for you,” Steve warned with a grin.

“Then you might wanna dial back on the onion there, sport. Don’t think I wanna lick your skin if you’re oozin’ onion,” Bucky shot back with a grin as he stirred the garlic mixture with a spatula.

The immediate darkening of Steve’s eyes, his mouth falling open slightly, told Bucky everything he needed to know. Licking. Who’d’a thought?

Bucky finished up slathering the bread slices with the garlic mixture, and tucked the sheet in the oven to bake. Then they pulled out a jar of sauce, a can of tomato paste, and Sash’s arsenal of spices to doctor the store-bought stuff. Every few minutes, Steve would come over for a taste, his eyes dark as Bucky smiled and fed him little samples of sauce and frying meat that grew sweeter and yet more savory as the wine reduced down.

Bucky found he really liked feeding Steve. He liked feeding Steve even more knowing now that he could take care of Steve properly, that he and Steve could share intimacy that was mutually satisfying.

So he fed Steve, and Steve’s breathing was slow and shallow as his pupils broadened. Finally Bucky had to reach a hand out and cradle his elbow in it. “Y’with me, babe? Can’t check out now, gotta have dinner with our Moms.”

“Mmmhmm,” Steve murmured with a dreamy smile. “Think they’d mind if we slipped upstairs for a repeat performance?” he asked, leaning forward to kiss Bucky wet and sloppy.

Not Bucky’s favorite kind of kiss, but he would work with it. “Pretty sure they would, baby. Especially since they’re both gonna wanna grill us over the engagement.”

“Are we? Engaged, I mean?”

“D’you wanna be?”

Steve nodded, slow and earnest, looking up nervously at Bucky through his lashes.

“Good. Cos I wanna be, too. No long engagement, Steve. We’ll get married soon so Sash can be there to walk you down the aisle to me. That okay with you, baby?”

Steve’s answer was to launch himself at Bucky’s lips, catching them in a searing kiss. 

They parted and Steve wrapped himself around Bucky, nuzzling at his ear, finally copping a feel of Bucky’s pecs, rubbing at his nipples. Bucky had to admit it felt better than he expected, and leans back against Steve, feeling the hard nubs of Steve’s own nipples against his back. He was shaking out some oregano into the sauce when the plastic strainer fell out and all the oregano dumped out, burping a little so it flew up in to the air and made Steve sneeze. Then they were giggling and laughing, and Steve made a noise like he was gasping, and suddenly they heard Sash’s banshee shriek and she descended on them, clawing at Bucky’s face to drive him away, snatching Steve and holding him in a frightening embrace as Fred ran in behind her.

“Get away from him! You’ll kill him! You’re just a dirty boy with germs and diseases, he can’t be exposed! Get away! I won’t let you kill my boy!”

Bucky spared a glance toward his Ma, saw the pain and resignation there. He quirked an eyebrow at her, she shook her head. Not now.

Steve was trying to talk his mother down, even as he was trying to pry her fingers loose where they bit into his flesh. “Ma, I’m all right! I’m healthy. Buck and I were just horsin’ around, I was laughin’ so hard I lost the rhythm, that’s all. I’m okay, Ma, leggo!”

“Sash, honey, Steve’s right. He’s fine. Look at him, honey – he’s all grown up now, he’s a beautiful healthy young man. No one’s gonna harm him. No one’s gonna make him sick. That’s all in the past now, remember? You’re happy Jamie and Steve found each other. Remember, sweetie?”

Sash frowned at Fred, her brow furrowed as she tried to concentrate on Fred’s words. “I … no. Bucky made Stevie sick, remember? You hadda move. I hated it when you left, but it was the only thing we could do, remember? Stevie almost died, and it was Bucky’s fault.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other over their mothers’ heads, exchanging horrified and confused expressions.

How could Bucky have made Steve sick if they’d never met before the photo shoot?

Unless …

“Ma?”

“You’ll get your answers, Jamie,” Fred answered flatly, her expression determined. She shifted her gaze from Bucky to Steve and back to Bucky. “You’ll both get the truth. It’s past time. But it’s not my story to tell, it’s Sash’s.” She squared her shoulders and huffed out a breath, then walked right up to where Sash had her arms wrapped tightly around Steve. Fred reached up and took Sash’s hand in hers, and Sash let her, her eyes tracking sluggishly. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s get you settled again, hmm? You need to get that shit out of your system, and you’ll be good as new. Back to normal. And then, it’s time to tell these boys a story. It’s time to tell them the truth, honey. Okay?”

“The truth,” Sash nodded. “The truth is awful,” she agreed, relinquishing her hold entirely on Steve to step into Fred’s arms, where Fred held her close and pressed a kiss to her forehead as she turned them toward the living room.

“I know, sweetie, but it’s time.” Then she tossed over her shoulder as she escorted Sash out. “Don’t let the meatballs burn, Jamie.” 

“Shit!”

&&&

Dinner was a mechanical affair, despite the meatballs turning out perfect, not burned, thank you very much. The meal was delicious, but the conversation was non-existent as Sash shoveled her food listlessly, Fred picked at her meal worriedly, and both Steve and Bucky shoved their food around their respective plates, appetites quelled. Bucky even silently offered to feed Steve a little, and he shook his head. So, all appetites were dulled for the moment.

The one thing that did get consumed in some volume was water. Bucky’s Ma kept refilling Sash’s glass, encouraging her to drink.

“Gonna piss myself I drink any more,” Sash grumbled as Fred filled the glass again.

“Gonna piss that shit right out of your system, is what you’re gonna do. Then you’re gonna apologize to my son for freaking him the fuck out, and you’re gonna apologize to you own son for doin’ the same thing to him. And then, my dearest friend for the past I’m not admitting how many years, you are gonna tell these boys the truth once and for all.”

Sash glared at Fred, her glass suspended between the table and her mouth. But then she saw the way that Steve was looking at her, equal parts fear and distrust, and she nodded. “I’m sorry. I heard Steve gaspin’ and it was like you two were four years old again. Back when Steve first got sick.”

“Whaddya mean, Ma? Buck and me, we didn’t –“

“I decided I wanted to get pregnant after Fred found out she was having you, Bucky. Ever wonder how you got that name?”

“Ma said one of my sisters kept trying to call me ‘Buchanan’ because she didn’t like James –“

Sash rasped out a rusty laugh and looked at Fred. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Fred shrugged.

“Steve gave you that name. I don’t think he was quite two yet. You’d just turned. He didn’t like james, asked you if you had a middle name. Stupid name, worst president in history, but it was yours. He made it Bucky. Then you were always Bucky after that.” She smiled at the memory.

“Why’d you always call me Jamie, then, Ma?”

“Tried to get you to forget being called Bucky, forget Steve. I think you did forget him, didn’t you? But you never forgot the name he gave you.”

Forget Steve. He didn’t remember knowing him, but he’d always had a hole in his life. A Steve-sized hole, he realized now. So even if his conscious mind had forgotten the details, his subconscious, his soul, had been all too aware of the absence, the lack of Steve in his life. He shook his head. No, he really hadn’t forgotten Steve in the most fundamental of ways.

Sash was still telling the story, though. “You’d been together practically since birth. My IVF took the first try, and there I was single, proud, and pregnant, just four months behind Fred. The clinic’s records showed the sperm donor had a perfect health background. Bastard lied, of course, but we wouldn’t find that out until later.”

“Yeah, uh, Steve said. Wait, so we really knew each other?”

“Let her tell the story her way, Jamie.”

“So we were best friends and now we were neighbors. I moved into the apartment across the hall. I hadn’t been around your sisters much, because I didn’t live there then, but when you and Steve came along, you two were inseparable. Fred and I, we traded off daycare. You slept in the same crib together, played in the same playpen, sometimes you’d even try to sit in the bouncy chair together, Steve on Bucky’s lap. Most adorable fuckin’ thing I ever saw.”

“Why don’t I remember any of this?”

“I’m getting to it. You two were like two halves of the same person. Always touching, always hugging, always kissing. You’d hold hands in your sleep, wrap yourselves around each other. Sometimes Steve would be the little spoon, sometimes he’s sprawl all over you. The only way we could get you to go to sleep in your own beds at night was to promise you’d see each other again the next day.” 

“Steve started to show signs of a less than perfect immune system at about six months. Terrible ear infections, he had to have tubes inserted to help deal with them. But that seemed to be it for a while. But I kept him out of daycare, and because I was keeping him home, your Ma kept you. So we kept spelling each other, or sharing daycare in one or the other of our homes. Worked out great until you started goin’ to Sunday school. With other little kids who didn’t know how to wash their hands, or cover their mouths when they sneezed, or stay at home when they were too fuckin’ sick to be around other kids.”

“I, uh … I’m sorry?”

“ _I’m_ sorry. What I said earlier … if you had kids, you’d know how crazy you get when one of ‘em’s sick. And Steve was all I had, all I planned to have. You came back from Sunday school, and the germs were all over you, only no one realized then how really compromised Steve’s immune system was. And getting sick from you triggered an entire cascade of immune system failures. Within hours, he was in ICU, and he wasn’t expected to live.”

“You howled,” Fred said suddenly, her voice tight with the tears that ran freely down her cheeks. “You howled you were so desperate for Steve. You didn’t understand that he was sick, you only understood that he wasn’t there. And you howled. The neighbors started making noises about asking the landlord to terminate our lease. Your Dad ended up soundproofing your room.”

“Huh. What happened? I don’t remember any of this. Why don’t I remember any of this?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not surprised. We’d hoped you both would forget, it was such a traumatic period for both of you. Steve came home, and since I’m a nurse, I understood sterile protocol. The place was scrupulously clean – I mean, my OR head nurse would have approved it for surgery. He asked about you, every day in the hospital. The only way I could get him to sleep, to behave, was to promise him he’d have his Bucky back when he got home. So we let you two play together again. And of course that meant hugging, kissing, sleeping wrapped up in each other. Touching all the time. And Steve ended up in the hospital again, sicker than before.”

“We tried again, same result. One last time, just to be sure. During the night, Steve flatlined. It was a miracle they were able to bring him back. That’s when Fred and I had to agree that we had to keep you separated. You could stay out of Sunday school, but eventually you were going to start school. Fred couldn’t homeschool you, she needed to work. Plus even if you stayed home, your sisters had lives. So, after Steve came home from the hospital, we didn’t let the two of you play together at all. You couldn’t see each other, you couldn’t talk to each other. We couldn’t afford the two of you to be together, because we couldn’t risk any more exposure.”

“Neither of you took it well, of course,” Fred interjected.

“No. Steve screamed and cried and tried to break out of the apartment. One night, I found him on the fire escape, trying to figure out how to get down to the street so he could ring Bucky’s doorbell. Barely more than four years old, and he was trying to run away to be with you.”

“And you, Jamie, you’d escape the apartment and go tearin’ down the hall and pound on Steve’s door, screaming for him. He’d be on the other side of the door, screaming just as loud.”

“So we figured the only way to prevent Steve getting sick again was we’d have to move. Pack up the entire family and move to another neighborhood, start over. And pray the two of you would forget each other.”

“I had an imaginary friend named Bucky,” Steve said suddenly. “You told me he was pretend, that he wasn’t real. I talked to him every day. I loved him. And you lied to me,” he ended flatly, looking up at his mother with a terrible devastation in his eyes.

“I had to protect you. You couldn’t be near him – your immune system was trashed by then. I could keep you safe in the apartment, by yourself –“

“You took him from me. You told me he never existed –“

“You were making yourself sick with grief, Steve! I had to convince you he wasn’t real so you’d let him go –“

“All my life I’ve been looking for him. _All my life_ , Ma. Every person I’ve ever been with, every person who looked at me, I’ve been comparing them to _him_ , Ma. I can’t love this person because he’s not _him_. I can’t stay with this person because he’s not _him_. I may not remember his name, but I remember how he feels. He’s part of my soul. That’s why we clicked, Buck. Because we … whaddya think, nature or nurture? Or maybe we’re just fuckin’ soulmates, huh? Thirty years, Ma. Thirty years. Y’coulda said something.”

“Steve, I –“

“Even when I was dyin’, y’didn’t say anything. Y’let me go to school for one glorious month, be around other kids just once before I kicked it. And still, I was lookin’ for _him_ , I was trying to find _him_ – I thought I had, this beautiful boy who was popular and smart –“

“A month?” Bucky interrupted, his voice shaky. He knew the answer, he just needed confirmation. It was too weird to be true, and yet …

“Just one, and then Dr.Erskine called. It was the Hail Mary to save all Hail Marys. Doctors here had written me off. My heart was failing. Couldn’t qualify for a transplant because everything else was failing, too. Nothing contagious, just broken. So I begged and I begged and I begged to finally get a taste of what all the other kids took for granted. To live on the other side of the window. Spent a month in school. Hurt like hell, and I knew it was just makin’ me sicker, but it was somethin’ I had to do. Best month of my life until I met you, Buck.”

“Do you have any pictures of yourself then?”

Steve nodded, went over to the console table by the door and dug out a scrapbook. He slid a snapshot out and handed it to Bucky.

Steve was the little spitfire. The boy that Bucky had seen and loved from afar.

More than that, Steve had been his best friend since infancy, had even given him his name. And the memory of that time was still clouded and full of pain, but Bucky could see now that throughout his life, there had truly been a Steve-sized hole, a gap he refused to fill with anyone else. A gap he couldn’t fill. He never felt desire, never wanted anyone because he couldn’t have the one person he wanted most. The person he needed most. So he’d stopped wanting entirely.

“I fell in love with you at first sight, all over again,” Bucky said quietly. “I saw you and you were like this pillar of fire. I couldn’t move, but I loved you. The first and only time I ever felt something like desire for someone. Until the day you walked into Clint’s place.”

“Then I _had_ found you,” Steve breathed, his voice hitching with tears threatening to spill. “If only –“

Bucky shook his head and handed the photo back to Steve, who slid it back into the book in silence. He remained standing behind Bucky’s chair, resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky turned his face to press his cheek against Steve’s skin, closing his eyes at the electricity in that simple contact. Then he lifted his face and opened his eyes to look at his mother and Steve’s. “All my life, I’ve shied away from touch. Something as simple as this – I didn’t want it, couldn’t stomach it. I’ve felt broken and less than human because I didn’t want anyone. What kind of man can look at a beautiful woman, or a beautiful man, and feel _nothing_? Oh, I could see someone was attractive, but I didn’t feel attraction. I’ve felt nothing because I’d been forced to forget the one person I ever wanted. The one person I needed.”

“Honey, we had no way of knowing … it was for Steve’s health, sweetie. You never meant to hurt him, but once his immune system was compromised, it just kept happening. We couldn’t risk it getting worse. We couldn’t risk it killing him.”

Bucky stood then, looking from Sash to his mother and back. “Steve’s right, Ma. It’s been thirty years. Thirty years without the truth. It wasn’t Sash’s story to tell us. It was _our_ story. Steve’s and mine. And you both kept it from us. You _took_ it from us. You made us forget each other. We had a right to know. _We had a right to know each other_.” Steve stepped behind him, let his hands slide over Bucky’s torso to rest at his waist, leaning his chin against Bucky’s shoulder. Steve chest felt warm and solid along Bucky’s back. For the first time in his life – in the life he could remember – the touch of someone else made him feel safe, feel whole, not anxious and broken. He didn’t understand it, but he’d been waiting for this touch for thirty years.

He turned in to that touch, embracing Steve and breathing him in like the air he’d been denied for thirty years. “I need to go,” he whispered in Steve’s ear, and Steve nodded.

“We got a lot to process, Buck and I. We’re gonna go. Fred, you’ll look after Ma?”

“Steve, honey, you don’t have to go –“ Sash protested, half rising from her seat, but dropping back down, her face aged and drawn with exhaustion and grief.

“I do, Ma. I don’t think either one of us can be around you right now. I’ll check on you tomorrow, but for now, we gotta go.”

Both of them were hurt and angry.  Both of them felt cheated of the life they should have had together. There was no doubt they both loved their mothers, but for now, they needed each other and some space to work through what they’d learned, to discover how it made them feel, what the real truth of it was for each of them. Without another word, they linked hands and walked out the door.

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... I hope that caught you off guard but made sense in the long run. This isn't a soulmates in disguise story, but I do believe that some people are lucky enough to have a counterpart, the person that makes them feel whole, makes them feel complete. I've never been lucky enough to meet mine, if they exist. I was told by a psychic when I was in college that my soulmate had died in a motorcycle accident when I was 18. So, yeah, maybe that's why I've never found them.
> 
> In any case, I hope this chapter worked for you the way it's worked for me. I love the intimacy and joy of the first part, and the catharsis of the second. I think maybe we have another chapter or two, and the story will come to an end. 
> 
> Let me know what you think. This is the part of the story where feedback is so incredibly precious.
> 
> And thanks for continuing on this journey with me.


	15. A House Is Not A Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the revelation of their lives, Steve and Bucky spend some time together, just being themselves. There's still a whole wide world to face, but not today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been crazy busy with work and trying to get my Storenvy and Etsy stores launched. Go check out the custom Pops I've designed around Steve and Bucky - shameless plug, I know. I'm doing a 10% off social media discount on Etsy - social10 - through 5Sep16. [The Barnes-Rogers General Store](https://www.etsy.com/shop/BarnesRogersStore) \- I'm working on logo art and a short story to go with it, too. But first priority is finishing Architecture. And yeah, there might be a sequel in the future ...

The ride home, by another ubiquitous uber, was silent and tense. Steve was crying silently, studiously looking out the window and not at Bucky. Bucky stared straight ahead, jaw set and tight, eyes burning with unshed tears. 

Thirty years of love and laughter had been denied them.

_Thirty years._

It was their lifetimes.

They’d never get that time back.

Worse was the memory of what those thirty years had held. And what they had not.

Bucky felt like he was in mourning, mourning for the person he should have been, the person he would have been had he and Steve been allowed to grow up together, to discover love together. 

Would they still be together thirty years on? His eyes flicked to the side, taking in the wretched misery wrapped around that beautiful soul. Even devastated as he was, Steve still shone brightly. 

Bucky knew, without a doubt, that had they had the future their Moms took away from them, they would have spent those thirty years together, and they would still be all that they could be to each other.

Friends.

Lovers.

Husbands.

Fathers?

He realized he wanted that with Steve, to have a family, to spend every day for the rest of how many years were left to them together. Building a life, not mourning a possibility.

And he was wealthy enough that he could buy whatever life they wanted for themselves.

Except for the thirty years they’d lost.

They weren’t going to get them back. They were both going to have to forgive their mothers, and figure out how to carry on. That was a given. There was no way that Steve would turn his back on Sash, not now, not ever. The time was coming when she wasn’t going to be around anymore, and Bucky would not allow Steve to look back with regret, not on his Mom.

And Bucky knew that his own Ma thought she’d done the right thing. For fuck’s sake, she’d uprooted the whole family, moved them all to another neighborhood. So Dad must have agreed that it was the best thing, too. Not even the most indulgent or progressive of husbands would allow his family to be ripped from their lives cavalierly on a whim of a childhood friend of his wife’s. So he had to accept that they really felt the move, the separation, was absolutely necessary.

Bucky had nearly killed Steve, just by being a normal kid.

If they hadn’t separated, would Bucky have succeeded in blotting out the light that was Steve? Would he have had to live with the guilt of killing – however inadvertently – his best friend, his other half?

Bucky doubted they could ever have convinced him to forget that. He had a bone-deep conviction that he would have followed Steve into the grave.

So, maybe … ?

When Steve had been declared terminal, the one thing he’d fought for was a chance to be normal. And why hadn’t Sash told Steve then, let him make the connection if he chose?

Because the end result would have been the same. Bucky could imagine his own Ma arguing against Sash telling Steve about Bucky, fearing for her own son’s life in the process. Look at what had happened in the present – they had no clue as to their importance to each other, and yet in a very short time, they’d come to value each other above all else. Imagine if they’d been reunited as teenagers, knowing the context of their relationship, with raging hormones thrown into the mix. He could picture they’d have convinced themselves that a grand gesture was romantic, a double suicide so that Bucky didn’t have to face life without Steve. How very emo.

There wasn’t anything normal about the pair of them. And Bucky realized that was okay. They’d make their own normal. And they were both in much healthier head spaces than they would have been as teenagers. And Bucky didn’t have to carry the guilt of triggering Steve’s death.

The past was what it was. They didn’t have to let it define them. They had a future to build, together.

He reached over and took Steve’s hand in his, gently threaded his fingers through Steve’s, and squeezed, just a little, just to let him know he was there.

“I love you,” he said softly.

Steve squeezed back.

&&&

“I didn’t bring any clothes,” Steve said flatly when they arrived back at Bucky’s apartment.

“You can wear mine. We’ll go shopping tomorrow. You haven’t let me spoil you at all. I want to. I want to show you off and buy you nice things.”

“I’m not a Ken doll.”

“No, you’re my fiancé. We need to think about rings, too.”

“Thought you said they were being custom made.”

“You know I made that up. But I’d like that. Think you might like to design ‘em?”

“Huh.”

“Huh, sure, or huh, fuck off?”

“Huh, sure. Never designed jewelry before. Could be fun,”

“Good. Fun is good. Y’know what else is good? Cuddling. Canoodling. I really kind of need to be close to you right now, Steve. I need to feel you.”

Steve looked up at that, brows scrunched together. “Feel me?”

“What can I say? You got a magic healing cock, baby.”

Steve stared at Bucky for a long moment, then snorted and burst out laughing. “I’m good, but I’m not that good, Buck. But I wouldn’t say no to cuddling. But I’m gross, I need a shower.” He started to pull off his shirt as he headed toward the guest bathroom, his head stuck in the fabric as he moved past Bucky. Bucky caught him by the bicep, causing him to stumble. Bucky caught him, righted him, and helped him get the shirt off.

“I could use a shower, too. Maybe … maybe we could do it together?” Bucky offered tentatively.

Steve’s eyes widened and it was all Bucky could do not to laugh. “Get clean kinda shower, or sexy times kinda shower?”

“Somethin’ in between, maybe. Definitely get clean. But maybe there’s some sexy times stuff we can try. I kind of have this urge to bathe you.”

“Fuck, Buck. I … yeah, I’d like that. I like havin’ my hair washed and shit.”

“Great. Let’s try that. But lemme go get some clothes and towels for us so we can get comfy after. Why don’t you grab a couple of bottles of water and some snacks from the kitchen?”

“Plannin’ on hibernatin’ or somethin’?” Steve asked with a chuckle as he turned toward the kitchen.

“Just think maybe we should nest a bit. Hold each other. Just … be, huh?”

Steve stopped and turned to look at Bucky. The expression on his face was heartbreaking and endearing. “I’d like that, Buck. In fact, I’d fuckin’ love it.”

“Meet you in the bathroom, baby. Don’t keep me waitin’.”

&&&

The main shower room was big, with lots of jets, steam, a waterfall showerhead, and a couple of massage heads, too. There was a tiled seat along one wall, faced in a warm terra cotta. Warm as in heated. The whole space had radiant heat so there was none of this shock of cold stepping out of a warm shower. “Gotta have some luxuries, Steve. I hate cold feet,” Bucky had explained with a grin. 

Steve had helped Bucky remove his prosthetic, powering it down and placing it in the charging cradle in Bucky’s room. They stood in the master bedroom, facing each other with their shirts off, and Steve hesitated, not sure what to do about nudity. They’d been partially dressed when they’d had sex, and the only time Steve had seen Bucky completely nude was the day they met, the day of the photo shoot. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt shy with someone, but he felt it now with Bucky. Every rule he’d ever lived by had been turned on its head tonight, and he felt like there was nothing he could trust in the world. If he couldn’t trust the truth of his Mom, if he couldn’t trust that what she told him was immutable fact, then Steve’s world had spun off its axis, and he was careening through space without direction, without hope of landfall.

Steve was adrift in the cold abyss of space.

And then Bucky touched him. A simple brush of his fingers against Steve’s shoulder, a grounding touch, an affectionate touch. And from that touch warmth spread, seeping into Steve’s cold and aching joints, filling him with a sensation like floating, like light. Steve turned toward Bucky as Bucky stepped into his space, his hand soothing down over Steve’s bicep and elbow, dusting over his forearm to curl fingers into his hand. “Kinda overdressed for a shower, aren’t you?”

“Am I? Is it okay? I mean –“

Bucky stepped closer and pressed his lips against Steve’s gently, softly. “It’s okay to be naked in the shower, Steve. I’ve seen you naked. You’ve seen me naked. I’m not afraid of being naked. You’re beautiful – you should be naked all the time. It’s a crime to cover that beautiful body.” Steve blushed and ducked his head, the dusty rose tint spreading down his neck to stain across his chest. Bucky ducked his head down to catch Steve’s eye, chuckling. “Naked is okay, Steve.” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand and let his hand drift up Steve’s abs, ghosting his knuckles over peaks and valleys there, sliding up over the crest of Steve’s pec, and pausing there to stroke over Steve’s nipple with his thumb. Steve gasped, and jerked his head up to stare at Bucky wild-eyed. Bucky grinned at him. “Someone said he was a fan of nipples. I wanted to find out why.” He glanced down at the hardening nub, the spreading blush that reached down toward Steve’s waistband now, the thickening in his trousers. “Hmm. Noted. I guess you _are_ a nipple man,” he murmured, stepping closer to lower his lips to blow on the nipple, then flick out his tongue to graze across it. 

Steve felt like the warmth that Bucky had infused his body with was turning to flame, burning him from the inside out, but not hurting him, no, igniting a fever in him, a passion. He sucked in a shuddering breath as Bucky’s lips closed on his nipple, sucking softly. Bucky hummed, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smile. And then he pulled back, letting his teeth catch and pull at the nipple as he did. “Do you like that?” Bucky asked, smiling, his voice low and gravelly and full of promise as he flicked his tongue out again at the sensitive flesh.

Steve nodded furiously. He was so fucking turned on right now, he thought he was going to come just looking at Bucky, just seeing his beautiful love offering him pleasure. Steve was vibrating with tension and desire. “Buck, Bucky, can I … can I touch you?” he begged, his hands fluttering because he didn’t know if he was allowed, he didn’t know where he could touch.

Bucky straightened and looked up at him then, and Steve gasped again, this time in shock. The eyes that gazed back at him were dark with lust, pupils wide and eclipsing the stormy blue of Bucky’s eyes. “You can kiss me. And get your clothes off.”

As commands go, kissing and getting naked sounded good, but the logistics were more challenging than either one of them realized, so after a few abortive attempts to multi-task, they parted, panting, and shucked their clothes, staring hungrily at each other’s nakedness. Then there was no space between them, and they were kissing, skin making contact with skin, electricity dancing and crackling everywhere they touched. Steve was drunk on the sensations, warm, pliant skin against his, soft hair between his fingers, luscious lips and tongue working against his, hot, heavy, and hard cock sliding against his, a hand, warm and alive and gentle in its possession, stroking over his shoulder, down his back, grasping his left butt cheek to press him closer. Steve pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily. “Buck, are you sure?”

“We need this, baby. We need to be close. I need you. You need me. I’m … I’m not up for fucking, not you in me, or me in you. But what we did before, in the shower, maybe? Something like that?”

“In the shower. Where the water will wash away the messy,” Steve guessed, getting with the program. Bucky nodded shyly. “Then let’s get that beautiful ass into the shower.”

&&&

“Something like that” evolved in an enthusiastic session of intercrural sex, with Steve thrusting between Bucky’s thighs while happily jerking Bucky off. Steve gasped and panted and practically shouted how gorgeous Bucky was, how perfect, how much he loved him, and how much he loved wrapping his hand around Bucky’s cock. Bucky responded by slinging his arm over Steve’s shoulders and hauling him close to kiss the everloving life out of him, aggressively thrusting his tongue into Steve’s mouth, where Steve grinned and sucked on it, teeth grazing lightly over it with every thrust.

Then there was just thrusting, gasping, names being dropped like prayers, and the edge.

And then they went over.

There was a considerable amount of messy, but the warm stream of the shower jets had that swirling down the drain before Bucky could even register its presence. 

Sated, drowsy, on rubbery legs and floating on post-coital bliss, Steve and Bucky stumbled back into Bucky’s bedroom, each trying to dry the other one off, giggling, teasing, laughing like the children they’d once been, but never had the chance to be together. Then Bucky looped his towel around Steve’s neck, grabbed the ends in his one hand, and pulled him closer. “Sleep with me tonight.”

“Thought we just did that,” Steve giggled, his eyes dancing with mischief.

“I don’t mean sex. I mean just … sleep with me. Fall asleep in my arms. Arm. Let your face be the first thing I see in the morning.”

Steve looked at him like he’d just promised the moon and delivered the galaxy. His eyes shone as his mouth dropped open slightly in a silent “O.” “Yeah. I want that. You know I do –“

“Are you okay sleepin’ like this?” Bucky asked, gestering between him and Steve, both of them still naked.

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I? You sure, Buck? We don’t have to –“

“I want to feel you. All of you. I want us to share the warmth of our bodies, the scent of our skin. I don’t want there to be any boundaries between us, Steve. I’m not talkin’ sex, just us, together. I just wanna be with you. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay, Buck. It’s what I want. Fuck, I think it’s what I need, what I’ve _always_ needed. I wanna fall asleep in your arms, and I want the first thing I see to be you. Always. Forever. I fucking love you, jerk,” he swore, tangling his fingers with Bucky’s and walking backward toward the bed. The edge of the bed hit the back of Steve’s legs, and he sat down with a whoof! and a chuckle. Bucky had turned down the bedding so Steve just had to scoot back to get to the headboard and the nest of pillows there. He slid further into the bed as Bucky put a knee on the edge, lifting himself up onto the bed and prowling toward Steve like a big cat. “Gotta say, Buck, the visual is hot as fuck. But get over here and cuddle me, big boy.”

And he did.

&&&

Steve slept soundly for several hours, tucked into the warm embrace of the man he loved. The man he’d always loved. 

The man he’d been born to love.

He blinked once, twice, three times, feeling his lashes brush against the smooth skin of Bucky’s chest. A chest he was allowed to touch now, and he treated it with all the care and consideration that deserved. Only the night before, they’d fallen asleep as two parallel planets, not touching, not holding, not intimate despite the sex. It was like learning how their lives had started had stripped away all the barriers, and they’d stepped willingly – enthusiastically – into each others arms. 

He understood – academically – how difficult that was for Buck. He knew that Bucky shied away from touch, was challenged by a lack of desire. So when he’d seen that desire ignite in his eyes, when he felt Bucky’s arm resting comfortably and willingly around his waist, saw his face tilted toward him, he knew that he’d been granted an immeasurable boon, a gift he felt honored and blessed to accept.

He let his eyes flutter closed again, focusing on the sensation of the beat of Bucky’s heart through the warm skin, a regular th-thump that told him the heart he loved most was strong and true.

A day ago, he would have said the heart he loved most was his mother’s. He knew he’d have to get over it, but when he thought about her now, his own heart ached, a hollow, dull ache that seemed to seep into his pores, his bones, the very space he occupied. 

He wondered if Bucky felt the same way about his own mother, or if his anger was reserved for Sash and Sash alone.

In his head, he thought he could understand the concept of what their mothers had done, but in thirty years there really had been no opportunity to tell them the truth, to introduce them again and see if nature would resume its course?

Or had Ma been so afraid to admit to the truth, she’d continued to suppress it?

Or had she been afraid that she’d lose Steve to Bucky again?

Or worse, Bucky wouldn’t care?

Or had it simply not occurred to her that reuniting them would change both their lives for the better?

It was a fucking mess.

He hated being separated from his Ma. He knew he had limited time with her before the cancer consumed her. 

But right now, he really, really needed to not see her, not hear her excuses. Not see her face begging him for forgiveness.

He knew he had to give it. He had to reconcile with her, and soon. It wasn’t something he could leave for very long, even if the treatments seemed to be helping her. There was no cure, no magic bullet, no panacea that would miraculously restore her health. 

They’d had their miracle already.

And as Steve shifted slightly to rest his cheek against Bucky’s pec, he recognized he’d had another miracle handed to him by the universe. He had Bucky back.

They’d been dealt a raw deal by the universe. Now they were together again. And fuck anyone who tried to come between them.

He smiled to himself, tightened his hold around Bucky’s middle, and was rewarded by a sleepy one-armed hug, a snuffle, and a sigh. 

Even in sleep, Bucky knew he was there.

And where he was was where he’d always be.

&&&

Bucky came back to himself gradually, in ever increasing levels of awareness.

Bed.

Warmth.

Drool.

_Steve._

Bucky smiled, realizing that the warmth that surrounded him, drove deep into his bones, that was Steve, too. Nicer that the puddle of drool he felt slithering down his ribcage to puddle on the sheets below. 

But the sensation of Steve wrapped around him, of his own arm holding him close … he never thought he’d ever have this, ever feel … content … in the embrace of another. He yawned slightly, felt his body tense to stretch, felt the source of the drool move as Steve muttered, “Not ready to get up yet.”

“Gotta take a leak, babe. And wipe off the drool.”

“I don’t drool – ugh, I do drool. I never drooled before I met you,” Steve complained, swiping at his face with a floppy hand. “I meet you and now I’m a drooler. The universe is not kind,” he complained, lifting himself away from the spreading smear and wrinkling his nose in distaste. “The things you do to me, Barnes.”

“Do to you? Seem to remember it was a pretty effective give and take there, buddy. Think you gave as good as you got –“

Steve shut him up with a firm kiss, then pulled back smiling. “Better. I got better,” Steve told him, his eyes crinkling into his smile. “I got the best.”

“Glad you think so,” Bucky said softly, reaching up to smoothe Steve’s floppy hair back from his face. “’Cos I’m plannin’ to keep you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So go take a leak, and then come back to this bed to show me how you plan to do that.”

Bucky grinned, kissed Steve on the tip of his nose, and bolted from the bed.

&&&

“Yeah. Yeah, Sam, I appreciate it. And no I’m not shakin’ up and shirkin’ my responsibilities, you asshole. No, um, somethin’ came up. Somethin’ I gotta spend some time thinkin’ about.”

“Barnes’s dick is so big y’gotta move in with ‘im to contemplate it? Steve, seriously, what’s goin’ on with you – he announces an engagement on TV, you don’t even tell your best friend first so he doesn’t get blindsided by his Mom demanding deets? And now you’re livin’ in his fuckin’ penthouse? Never knew you to be a kept man, bud. But hell, get it. You deserve it.”

“No, it’s not like that. But the view is fucking spectacular. The light here, Sam – I really need to set up an easel, like right now. But that’s not it. I, um, I learned some stuff. Last night. From Ma. Kinda … kinda upset me. So I need some me time, y’know? Need a little bit of space.”

“Space, huh. From your Ma. That’s big, Steve. I’ve never seen anyone be so devoted to a parent without being fuckin’ creepy about it. What she said … it hurt?”

“Like a sonovabitch, Sam. I know I gotta get over it, I know I don’t got a lotta time. But I just need a coupla days to work my way around it, y’know? But I need to know she’s all right, too. Fred’s there, but Fred can’t do everything. And, um, I’m … not …”

“Not talking to Fred, either? Shit, man. What about Bucky? He talkin’ to his Ma?”

“Not really.”

Sam let out a long, low whistle, then muttered a few choice words under his breath, and Steve couldn’t quite make them out. He could guess, though. “You’re gonna give me all the details, Steve. Not now, I get you’re hurtin’. And I’ll look in on Sash and Fred, don’t you worry. But you, me, and pastrami at Kaplan’s, your treat. Wednesday, noon. Don’t be late.”

“Can I bring Bucky?”

“That engagement’s real, huh? Gonna ask me to be best man?”

“Who else would I ask? You’re the best man in my life, Sam.”

“Except for Bucky.”

“Yeah, Sam, except for Bucky. I really do, you know. Love him. Wanna spend the rest of my life with him. I want what you and Riley have, with him.”

“Old socks and morning breath? Yeah, you got it bad, kiddo. Okay. I’ll report in after I see your Ma. Phone or text?”

“Huh?”

“You want the report by phone or text.”

“Oh. Text is good, I guess. Unless. Unless you think we need to talk.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll use my judgment. And Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry you’re hurtin’ man. But I’m glad you found it. The love you been lookin’ for.”

“Yeah, Sam, me, too. You have no idea.”

“You don’t have to stand there lurkin’, y’know. This _is_ your bedroom after all.”

Bucky stepped back into the bedroom, smiling shyly at Steve. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Kinda glad I did. Sam’s a good friend. That’s important.”

“Yeah. You?”

“What, good friends? Clint. Nat. We’ve been friends since high school. Well, Clint and me, we met earlier. But Nat just sort of slid into our lives in high school. I even tried dating her, but she clued in pretty fast that wasn’t what I really wanted. Besides, she always had plans for Clint.”

“I’ve known them both forever, and I never knew they were your friends. Geeze, Buck, it’s like the whole fuckin’ universe was in on the conspiracy,” Steve grumped, flopping back against the pillows and crossing his arms petulantly.

Bucky slid into bed with him, stretched out alongside him, and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Maybe. Maybe it’s all just a fuckin’ cosmic joke. But y’know what, Steve? We found each other. We found each other, and we know what we feel for each other is real. It’s nice to know that we knew each other as kids, and maybe something in us recognized each other. But at the end of the day, it’s you, who you are today, that I love. Not some little mop top from a past I don’t remember any more.” Bucky shifted to press a sweet kiss against Steve’s cheek.

“Sounds like you’re halfway to forgiving them,” Steve groused.

“Maybe. Maybe not. I dunno how I’m gonna feel when I actually see ‘em. But right now, I’ve got this really hot guy in my bed. And that really hot guy means the world to me. And I’d like to show him that. Whadya think, Steve? Help a guy out?”

Steve rolled over so that he and Bucky were practically touching from the tips of their noses, down to their toes, but not a millimeter of flesh was actually in contact. He could feel the heat emanating from Bucky, smell the warm scent of his aftershave and something that could only be the essence of Bucky himself. Maybe a lingering whiff of the sex they’d had last night. But most of all, just the clean and slightly spicy smell that was the man sharing space and heat and air with him.

Steve felt an overpowering need to kiss him, to show him just how much he meant to him. He lifted his hand up to cup Bucky’s cheek, watched as Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Can I … ?” Steve asked softly, his hand suspended over Bucky’s face.

Bucky’s smile widened and he nodded. Steve’s hand cupped Bucky’s cheek as his thumb nudged under Bucky’s chin and tilted his face up so that Steve could kiss him, slow, and deep, and full of everything he didn’t know how to say out loud.

They kissed like that for a long time, finally coming up for air to press their foreheads together, panting.

“If all I could have was that, I’d be happy,” Steve said reverently. “I love kissing you. I love _you_. I’ll take anything you’re willing to give me, but know that I’d be content with that.”

“Thank you,” Bucky replied, his voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea what it feels like to hear you say that, baby. And the fact that you are, you’re content with that, that you’re not gonna pressure me into more, it’s like it gives me the strength I need to offer more. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to do all the things you like, Steve. But know that it’s not because I don’t love you. I do. You make me feel like I can do more, want more. Because it’s you. There’s always been a missing piece. It’s always been you.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m here, huh?” Steve smiled and pressed a small kiss to Bucky’s lips.

“Yeah, a good thing,” Bucky agreed, wrapping his arm around Steve’s torso and pulling him close, wrapping his leg around Steve’s thighs and drawing them near. 

Steve gasped at the feel of hot, hard outline of Bucky’s cock against his thigh. “Are you –?”

“Yeah, I kinda am. I dunno what you do to me, but yeah. Thought maybe we could try touching?” he suggested tentatively. “Y’know, at first, then condoms?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve breathed, smiling broadly. “I’d like that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, sliding his hand under the pillow and fishing out a couple of condoms and a bottle of lube.”

“You slept on that?”

“I slept on _you_. Remember, drool patch? But I figured if the flesh was willin’ at any point, it’d be good to have supplies so we didn’t risk –“

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue, but thanks. Thanks for thinking about it. I’m not very good at this, y’know. So I’m kinda relying on you to teach me. Is that okay?”

“That’s more than okay, Buck. I’ll teach you what I like, and you’ll teach me what you like. Sounds like a great way to spend a Tuesday.”

“Tuesday. Fuck, do you have to go to work?”

“Called out for the day. Personal reasons. So, where were we?” he asked, leaning in for another kiss, smiling.

“Right where we belong, baby.”

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, next chapter will see how the boys deal with the world around them, and how Sash and Fred are coping. I know there's a lot of anger toward the Moms, but the fact is, they did what they thought was best for the boys. 
> 
> Always, I'd love to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for going on this journey with me! I think there are two chapters left ...


	16. A House is Made with Walls and Beams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which emotions are sorted, realizations are made, and progress is something anyone can aspire to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in the home stretch. I got a note from the Big Bang folks letting me know that I have to finish this story by 15Sep16, or lose my designation as part of the Big Bang. So I'm going to skip some things I was toying with, and save them for a possible sequel. So, watch this space ... the next chapter will be the last for this story, but not for these boys. :)

“Feeling better?” Fred asked from the dining room table, where she sipped calmly at her tea.

“Fuck, no.” Sash shuffled into the dining room, her slippers scuffing noisily on the hardwood floor as she dragged herself into the room. “Is there coffee?”

“Kitchen,” Fred replied. “So, feeling better?”

“Did I dream that Steve left last night with Bucky?”

“No.”

“Then double fuck no.”

“Mmm,” Fred agreed, taking another sip, her expression carefully neutral.

Sash turned a bleary eye toward her old friend, and kept shuffling, guided more by instinct than sense toward the coffee pot. On autopilot, she pulled a cup out of the cupboard, filled it, and shuffled back to the dining room where Fred slid a plate of toast across to her as she sat down.

“I feel sick to my stomach,” Sash announced, picking up a piece of toast and grimacing at it.

“Because of the drugs yesterday, or … ?”

“You know.”

“Use your words, Sash. Been swallowin’ ‘em for too fuckin’ long.”

“Jesus fuck, Fred. Lemme get some coffee in me ‘fore y’light inta me.”

“Not lightin’. Just pointin’ out the obvious. We made our beds. Now … now we gotta lie in ‘em. Face the consequences.”

“Didn’t do anything wrong. We acted for their best.”

“In the beginning, yeah. But it went on too long, Sash. The boys said as much.”

“What were we supposed t’do, Fred? Huh? When was I supposed to tell my boy that he had a best friend who was gonna kill him if they fuckin’ played together, huh? I was grateful when he finally forgot, stopped hurting. Could get on with his life. How could I take that away from him? He had so little, stuck in the apartment the way he was, no friends, no companions, just his books and his movies and his drawings – his dreams. I hate what we had to do, but the alternative …” she shook her head angrily and sucked down more of her coffee. “Gonna get the fucking pot,” she announced, jerking herself up and back toward the kitchen.

“What about after, hmm? After he was cured?” Fred called after her, head cocked but not expecting an answer.

“Mmmrph,” came the garbled reply, no doubt lost in chugging a cup down.

“And my boy ended up broken. You heard him, Sash. And now I think about it … after Steve got sick the first time, Jamie … _Bucky_ … started washing his hands obsessively. All the time. Couldn’t stand to be dirty. Couldn’t stand a mess. And my little boy who loved to hug and kiss … over time, Sash, he stopped. He just _stopped_. Didn’t like to be touched at all. Didn’t want his Mama’s hugs, flinched whenever anyone tried to kiss him on the cheek. He was unhappy in high school, but I never put it together before. He might have forgotten Steve, but he didn’t really. He’s been lonely all these years. I went along with your plan, Sash. It made sense at the time. It was the only way we could save Steve. But it’s been 30 fucking years.”

“You didn’t tell Bucky either,” Sash retorted as she came back into the dining room with the pot and her cup. She thunked both down on the table and sank wearily back into her seat, half-glaring at Fred to challenge her response.

“Because you didn’t want to tell Steve. What good would it have done for only one of them to know? Looking back it was a coward’s choice.”

“This gonna be the thing that finally breaks us apart, Fred?” Sash asked miserably.

“’Course not, you idiot. But you know – the boys have questions. They’re pissed as shit, and they got every right to be. It’s about time we got our heads out of our asses and figured out the answers to their questions. We gotta, or we’re never gonna earn their trust again.”

“I stayed in Germany deliberately,” Sash blurted out then, all in a rush like the words needed to put space between them and her.

“What?” Fred demanded, her eyes wide, brows dancing between confusion and surprise.

“I stayed in Germany so I wouldn’t have to face it. Telling Steve the truth. I didn’t ever want to see the look in his eyes I saw last night. I figured the longer I didn’t tell him, the more I wouldn’t have to. The more he’d never remember. I never thought that keeping them apart could still hurt them. I didn’t know about Bucky – you never said.”

“No, and I didn’t understand what he was going through because _he_ never said. It’s easy to see it in the rearview. I wondered, y’know. About Germany. So Dr. Erskine didn’t ask you to stay on?”

Sash shook her head. “I talked him into it. Steve’d finished high school at that point, earned his degree by home schooling. He wanted to go to college, wanted to finally be normal. He was healthy enough to go. There are wonderful art schools in Europe, I found him one, and they were happy to accept him. No one knew him as the weird kid who’d been sick all his life, they just knew him as Steve. Tall, beautiful, _healthy_ Steve. Talented Steve. It all seemed to be fitting together, y’know? But we coulda come home, he coulda gone to school here. I just … I just didn’t want to, I didn’t want to jinx it. And he was doing so well, mastering the language, excelling in his classes. He was dating that Peggy Carter by then, and they seemed like they were getting serious. But after he graduated, they agreed to be friends, and he begged me to come home. I never knew he missed Brooklyn until that point. But he wanted to come home so bad, I didn’t have the heart to say no.”

“Both our boys apparently never learned to use their words properly. We’ve done a helluva shitty job raising them.”

“And yet, look how they turned out. Despite us.”

“Yeah. And they found each other again. _Despite us_.”

“There’s nothing either of us did that wasn’t grounded in love, Fred. Maybe we coulda told ‘em sooner, maybe we shoulda paid closer attention to the spaces between the words they didn’t fuckin’ say. I dunno, I’m not a fuckin’ psychic, and I can’t go back and change time. Fuck, now I got Bowie on repeat in my head. Fuckin’ earworm. “

Fred couldn’t help but stifle the giggle that bubbled up her throat. “Get it out of your system _now_ , Sash – you take that tone with Steve and you’ll lose him forever. This is serious shit to those boys. Y’need to treat it that way.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. If I can’t be lewd, crude, and rude with you, who can I be? You’ve always gotten t’see me at my worst, Fred. I always let my worst face show t’you. And yet you’re still here. Why is that?”

“Where else ‘m’I gonna be, huh? Now eat your toast. And then take a shower – y’stink, Sash. We got some plottin’ t’do.”

&&&

Sam’s heart broke a little when he saw the excited sparkle in Sash’s eyes die away to a disappointed and dull shimmer when she yanked the door open to reveal his own sorry self. His own sorry, single self.

She glanced over his shoulder expectantly, and the disappointment gnawed a little further into the light that was Sash Rogers. “Steve with you, Sam?” she asked hopefully, eyes flicking to the empty space behind him.

“Sorry, Miss Sash, just me this morning. How you feelin’?” he asked, turning on a megawatt grin that was guaranteed to bring some life to her haggard-looking face.

And there she was, that flirty girl still glowing inside the body that was gradually failing her. She smiled at him then, a genuine smile reserved for him and him alone. “Better, baby. Y’gonna come in?”

“Is that coffee I smell?”

“I’ll brew up a fresh pot. You can tell me stories about you and that beautiful husband of yours – and don’t leave out any details. I gotta live vicariously through you young folk, y’know.”

“You’re just a dirty old broad, Miss Sash,” Sam chuckled, following her into the house. It was an old routine between them, Sash digging for pornographic details of his life with Riley, Sam playing the coquette and refusing to give up any real intel about their sex life. A game to pass the time.

“Well, y’ain’t lyin’, Sam, that’s true,” she answered as she led him toward the kitchen where they found Fred fussing over a cookie pan loaded with mounds of dough.

“Look what I found on the front step. Just in time to help eat the cookies.”

“Course you’d get here after all the work’s done, Sam. Sit down, Sash’ll get you a cup of coffee. Guess you’re here instead of Steve, huh?” Fred asked matter-of-factly, sliding the tray into the oven with practiced ease.

Fred may have been matter-of-fact, but Sash froze, her hand in mid-air as she was refilling the coffee pot. Sash put down the grounds and turned toward Sam, resting against the counter. “Steve send you, Sam?”

Well, this visit was turning to shit in record time. Sam nodded, though, unwilling to lie to either woman.

“So, he’s not coming today,” Sash said flatly, and again Sam nodded. “How is he, Sam?”

“Hurtin’. Didn’t tell me why, just that he needed some space. But he wants to make sure you’re okay. So. How you feeling, Miss Sash?”

Sash and Fred exchanged a loaded glance, and Sam knew he was in for some story when he and Steve got together for lunch the next day. 

“Stupid,” was all Sash said, then she turned back to the coffee maker.

Fred snorted, and came over to join Sam at the kitchen table. “Nothin’ new, then,” she muttered, then turned weary eyes on Sam. “So, what gossip d’ya have to share today, Sam? Must be somethin’ excitin’ happenin’ amongst you kids, huh?”

“Clint finally asked Nat. She said yes, like anybody doubted she would.”

Sash snorted. “’Bout fuckin’ time. That girl was gonna drag him to the Municipal Building by the balls if he didn’t man up and pop the fuckin’ question. How long those two been dating?”

“Since high school. Sort of. Clint got all noble and shit when they went off to college, and swore they could date other people. But far’s I know, he didn’t, and she was waiting for him when he got off the bus every time he was on break. They’ve been living together for five years, I think.”

“He’s a talented boy, that Clint,” Fred agreed. “But sometimes he’s dumb as rocks, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. Well, I’m glad for them. I guess you heard about Steve and Jam- er, _Bucky’s_ news?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam admitted, frowning a little at the way Fred corrected herself. She’d always referred to her son as “Jamie,” which is why Sam never made the connection between Bucky Barnes, actor, and Jamie Barnes, Fred’s son. “Kinda fast.”

“The heart knows what it wants,” Sash said dully. “And fuck if it can be denied.”

Fred looked over worriedly at where Sash still stood by the coffee pot, watching the stream of dark, fragrant liquid filling the pot.

“You’re not happy about it?”

“Happy? No, I’m happy for them. Y’can’t help but be happy for anyone who finds love. And what’s between Steve and Bucky … well. Let’s just say it’s one in a million.”

Sam’s eyes shifted between Sash and Fred, gauging their reactions, and there was definitely something hinky going on here. “This what you and Steve fought about?”

That startled Sash, and she glanced guiltily at Fred, then shook her head vehemently. “Not the marriage, no. I really _am_ happy for them. No, it was something else, something –“

“Something in the past. Secrets that were held too long. But I imagine Steve’s gonna tell you himself, if he hasn’t already. Am I right, Sam?” Fred asked pointedly.

Sam shrugged. “If he wants to talk, I’m happy to listen.”

Fred nodded to herself, and smiled tightly. “Then make sure you tell him that we’re both sorry, we made mistakes and we can’t go back and fix ‘em. But that doesn’t mean we don’t love those two boys any less than we always have.”

“And we love them more than they could ever know,” Sash added sadly, pouring coffee into her cup and setting aside, then filling another clean cup for Sam. 

“Steve knows you love him, Sash,” Sam replied gently. “God, how could he not?”

“But now … now he doesn’t trust me. I need a chance to earn his trust back, Sam. I don’t have much ti-“ she cut herself off with a tiny sob. 

They all knew she was living on borrowed time. The clinical trial, if successful, would extend her life a bit longer, hopefully give her an improved standard of living while it did so, but there was no magic potion that could lift the death sentence she was staring at in the middle distance. 

“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell them both,” Sam promised, and Fred leaned across and patted his hand affectionately. “Now, I was promised coffee and cookies – by the smell of things, I think I should help pull out the trays, maybe do a taste test. Whaddya say, Miss Fred?”

“I say be my guest. And while you’re up, you can make me another cuppa tea, Sammy. Come on, Sash, come sit by me, won’tcha?”

&&&

“Buck, it’s too much,” Steve complained, surveying the pile of clothes Bucky had picked out, topped off with super fucking soft underwear and some really stylish kicks.

“Says who? Everything in that pile is picked out personally by me.”

“Yeah, and it’s too much.”

“Everything in that pile is something I’d like to see you in.”

“Well …”

“And then I’d like to see you out of it.”

“Well, when you put it that way –“

“I like the idea of dressing you, baby. I like the idea of you wearing clothes I picked out just for you. I dunno, it kinda makes me … well, it makes me hot in a way I didn’t expect. I like the idea of giving you things. Beautiful things.”

“Hot, huh?”

“Yeah. Little tingle, maybe. Might get bigger if you let me dress you.”

“Not a doll, Buck.”

“You’re my doll. My baby. And I’m yours. You got a fantasy about me?”

“Everything about you is a fantasy, Buck. Got more than I coulda ever hoped for.”

“That all?”

“Well, if we’re really talking fantasies here … you know I love it when you feed me. And fuck, you washin’ my hair … I really, really wanna get my mouth on you, but I know you’re not … well. But yeah, I get what you’re sayin’. If y’wanna dress me, I won’t complain. Just … maybe something else?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Somethin’ else, what?”

“Lingerie?”

“Lingerie.”

“Not if you don’t like it, but if you think you might … I know I like wearin’ it, so …”

“Point the fuckin’ way. Baby, I think you just found my new favorite thing.”

&&&

“Bucky! Bucky Barnes!”

“Fuck, it’s one of those celebrity bloggers.”

“You want me to take care of her, Mr. Barnes?” Happy asked diffidently.

“Nah, let’s see what she has to say, huh?”

Plastering his official You’re the Most Important Person in the World to Me SmileTM, he turned to greet the young woman who was frantically trying to grab his attention. “Ms. Rivera,” he said, plucking her name out of his memory bank. She blogged for one of the bigger crews, somewhat legit, reached a lot of people worldwide. So … worth it.

“Hi, thanks for stopping Mr. Barnes. Okay if I call you Bucky?” she asked in a torrent of fast-moving words.

Bucky nodded, and let the words wash over him. 

“So, congrats on the engagement,” she started, practically curtseying to him as she glanced over to where Steve waited in the car with their purchases. 

Bucky glanced back at Steve and winked, and Steve visibly relaxed.

“So, word has it that Alexander Pierce has promised to deliver photographs proving your fiancé is an ex-prostitute –“

“Excuse me?”

“Um, yeah, Alexander Pierce announced he’s got photographic proof –“

“No he doesn’t. Steve doesn’t even know Alexander Pierce. He dated Pierce’s boy toy, Brock Rumlow, for a few weeks a coupla years back. If Pierce’s got photographic proof of anyone being a prostitute, it’s gonna be Rumlow. Not that there’s anything wrong with sex workers – they’re people practicing a trade like any other. It’s people like Pierce and Rumlow who make it ugly.”

“So … Steve Rogers is or isn’t an ex-prostitute?”

“Isn’t. He’s an artist, a pretty frigging amazing one at that. After we get back from press tour and our honeymoon, he’s going to have a showing in Soho. It’s going to knock people on their asses. You should come – check with my office, they’ll hook you up with tickets when they’re available.”

“Oh, well. I don’t usually cover the art beat –“

“Come and _enjoy_. Leave your blogger hat at home if you like.”

“Yeah, okay, great. So, um, honeymoon. That mean you’re getting married sooner rather than later?”

“Means I’m getting married as soon as I can. I don’t wanna waste a minute of the rest of my life I’m gonna spend with Steve.”

“So … true love?”

“Yeah. True love,” Bucky admitted, and realized it was true. Fact. And the sappy smile on his face wasn’t acting. And the way that Ms. Rivera was watching him, she was turning into a puddle of goo at the sight of said true love.

“First time?” she said softly.

“Only time,” Bucky agreed.

Yep. There she went, total puddle. 

And when Bucky got in the car with Steve a few minutes later after seeing Ms. Rivera on her starstruck way, he announced, “Steve, you’re doing a show in Soho sometime after we get married. And Happy – think you can take us to the Municipal Building? We got a license we gotta apply for. Oh, and let Tony know we’re gonna need an injunction.”

“Show, license, injunction. Got it, Mr. Barnes. I’ll let Mr. Stark know.”

&&&

“Whaddya think?”

Steve slid the paper across the table to Bucky and sat back with a huff, knee bouncing as he waited impatiently for Bucky’s reaction.

“They’re … they’re beautiful, Steve. Wow,” Bucky breathed, looking up at Steve with awe and wonder.

“Y’really like ‘em? It’s a combination of iconic designs – Claddagh, ankh, some runes. Love and healing and eternity.”

“That what I mean to you?”

“And so much more.”

“License is good for 30 days. Know anyone who could do these fast enough?”

Steve flipped the page around to stare at it a moment, then nodded. “Got a friend who does metalworking. Does amazing shit with these little hammers. He could do these.” He looked up at Bucky and cocked his head. “Y’got a date in mind?”

“Sooner rather than later, right? Hey, did you see this?” Bucky asked, holding out his phone to show Steve a post on his Facebook feed.

“Clint’s ordained?”

“Apparently. So, whaddya say – shall we have Clint marry us?”

“You sure that’s legal?”

“He knows I’ll kill ‘im if it’s not.”

“There is that. What the hell. So, who’re you gonna have as best man, then?”

“I was thinkin’ Tony. After all, he’s kinda the man who helped make everything happen. Him and Clint. But it was his idea I do the fake boyfriend thing with you. That earns him major kudos, don’t you think?” Steve nodded vigorously, grinning. “And it might buy me some good will when I tell him I’m gonna retire from film for a while.”

“Retire? Why?”

“I don’t wanna travel anymore. Not once we’re married. I wanna stay home with you. Hell, if we could get out of the press tour, I’d do it.”

“Well, I gotta say I like your logic. No – I love it. But what’re you gonna do?”

“Theatre. Gonna try, anyway. If I’m not filming, I can settle into a long engagement. My name’ll sell tickets. And I think Tony owns a theatre. Or two. I can never keep track of his holdings – I know he doesn’t.”

“But ... are you sure?”

Bucky reached across and took Steve’s hand in his. “Never been surer. I’ve always wanted to do theatre, now I’ve got serious motivation. Look, Steve, I’m rich. I’m serious – I’m rolling in it. I could never work again, and we’d never go without anything we want. I like to act, I like to work. I’m lucky that I love what I do. But that nest egg means I can be more selective about what I do, and make sure we get to spend our lives together instead of a world apart.”

“I’ll contact Thor tonight about the rings. Whaddya think about two weeks from Saturday?”

“You gonna be ready to talk to Sash by then?”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, his eyes staring at the floor, gaze shielded by his long lashes.

“Steve?”

“Bein’ mad’s not gonna change anything, is it,” he said more as a statement than a question.

“No. We can’t get back those years, we can’t change the past.”

“We can’t erase the hurts we felt when we were apart. But,” he added, swallowing hard, “we can build a future together. That’s what we’re doin’ here, aren’t we? Building a future?”

“A future for us, yeah.”

“So, yeah. I’ll be ready. I just need a little time. Maybe we could swing by for dinner on Sunday?”

“We gonna warn ‘em or we gonna just show up?”

“I vote we just show up. With food. Dessert at least.”

“Virago caters,” Bucky suggested with an exaggerated wriggle of his eyebrows.

“Have ‘em deliver here, then. If you’re feedin’ me, we ain’t goin’ nowhere but bed. We go to my Ma’s, we’re on best behavior.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that, punk.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“So that’s how it is. Okay, it’s on, jerk!”

&&&

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm posting this, I realized that today is the 20th anniversary of my Dad's death. We had a complicated relationship, and there have been weird parallels to that relationship throughout this story.
> 
> For example, when I was an infant, I suffered from horrible, sudden fevers that put my life at risk. My personal best was 107 degrees F at 10 months old. I knew nothing about this growing up, only that everyone freaked out whenever I got a fever. And I rarely got anything lower than 104, which was made worse by the fact that my normal temperature is 96.5, more than two degrees lower than "normal." But I digress.
> 
> I had a really estranged and uncomfortable relationship with my Dad. I was always trying to figure out why he didn't love me the same way he loved my brother and sister. Then one day, an off-handed comment finally revealed the truth no one had thought to share with me. My convulsions, the horrific fevers I'd suffered, had taken their toll on my Dad. The doctors had warned my parents that if the fevers recurred, I was unlikely to survive, or if I did, I'd probably have severe brain damage.
> 
> Apparently, my Dad had contemplated suicide. The thought of losing me cut him that deeply. So to survive, he cut his relationship with me, distanced himself so if I went, he wouldn't go too. I was only an infant, but this recurring life-threatening situation cost me my relationship with my Dad.
> 
> We eventually repaired it a little, but never completely. But I was with my Dad until the end, watching him struggle to remain alive one moment more, to make sure my Mom, his true love, was taken care off. It wasn't until I promised to come home and take care of her (I lived near Boston, my folks lived near Philadelphia) that he finally let go. My Dad survived a virulent form of cancer ravaging his body for two months longer than anyone expected because he was unwilling to say goodbye to my Mom.
> 
> Twenty years ago today, he let go. But the love between my parents never dimmed. When my Mom died, her hand in mine, I swear I could feel my father in the room, holding out his hands to her to take her to dance once more around that USO dance floor where they first met during World War II.
> 
> So, yeah. Secrets can be kept innocently without thought for how they hurt. And true love can work miracles. I don't expect a love like that for me, but I'm honored to have seen it in action with my parents. And I hope I've given the flavor of it in how I've portrayed the growing affection between Steve and Bucky here.


	17. A Home is Made with Love and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tentative steps toward recovery and building a future occur. And these guys have awesome friends. Just sayin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, our journey is complete. For now. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Sam and Steve had been meeting at the L&L Diner for nearly five years, ever since Steve and his Ma had moved back to Brooklyn. They’d known each other a lot longer, having met while Sam had been recovering in a US Air Force hospital in Germany, from injuries sustained in the field in Afghanistan. Steve had been doing an art therapy internship, and the two had gotten to talking, then flirting, and a friendship had been born. Steve had visited Sam every day during his recovery, and the two men had been just barely sidestepping their attraction to one another when Sam’s wingman Riley had finally wrangled leave to visit with Sam.

Steve had seen right away that there was something special between Sam and Riley, something unspoken, perhaps even unacknowledged. And so he’d broached the subject of their mutual attraction, and proposed that maybe they made better friends than potential lovers. Sam’s eyes had continually strayed toward the open door of the ward, looking for Riley, no doubt, but he’d given a good show of being truly disappointed that he and Steve would not explore something more. 

Then Sam and Riley finally had the heart to heart they needed to have, and by the time Sam was finally discharged, they were engaged, secretly, quietly. DADT was still in force, and DOMA was still the law of the land, so any plans for a wedding were put on hold until both men concluded their military service and could find the right location back in the States to sanctify their union. But Sam had exacted a promise from Steve that he’d be Sam’s best man when the time came.

Five years ago, when New York state ratified the Marriage Equality Act, Sam had finally put a ring on Riley’s finger, and Steve had been there to stand up for him. Steve had wanted to return to the States, to New York, to Brooklyn, for many reasons, but one of the big ones was so he could be there that day when Sam and Riley finally exchanged vows.

And since then, their lives had continued to be entwined, with morning runs, big greasy breakfasts at the L&L, movie night at the Rogers’s, ballgames at Sam and Riley’s, drinks out with Sam, Riley, Nat, and Clint, holidays, good days and bad days, too. 

As Steve slid into the booth across from Sam, he realized that this thing with Bucky had disrupted all that. He and Sam hadn’t been running together in over a week, and only sporadically before that over the past couple of months. And that was not just because he spent so much time at Bucky’s. Buck spent just as many nights at Steve’s, and it just seemed churlish to leave him stranded while he went out for a run with Sam.

Until that moment, Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d left Sam stranded instead.

“God, Sam, I’m a shit friend. I’m sorry,” were the first words Steve blurted as he reached across the table to grab at Sam’s hands.

“No big, Steve. I know things have been intense with Barnes. Now, you’re payin’, right? ‘Cos I got a powerful appetite today – thinkin’ maybe an omelet with home fries, a side a’bacon, and a chocolate shake to wash it down with. Ooh, and French toast on the side. Whadya think?”

“I think that sounds good. Same for me,” Steve grinned back, squeezing Sam’s hands one more time before releasing them.

They ordered, waited until their drinks were set in front of them, and then Sam leaned back in his seat and leveled Steve with one of his patented, “I’m not disappointed in you but you got some explaining to do” gazes.

“How’s Ma?” Steve asked, deferring his own reveal just a few minutes longer.

“Misses you. Gotta be weird, not having you around. At all. For days. Not like you, man. What’s goin’ on?”

So Steve explained it to Sam, pausing to answer incredulous questions, listen to Sam huff out exclamations of surprise or disapproval, go back over the serpentine details of the history of Steve Rogers and James “Bucky” Barnes from birth to that day. While Steve explained, their food arrived, and they both tucked in with enthusiasm, even as their conversation continued with questions and challenges, answers and defenses.

“So … what? You guys are soulmates or some such shit?”

“Dunno about that. But when we’re together, it’s like the missing pieces aren’t missing anymore.”

“He’s really it for you, huh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, in ways I can’t even describe. And I’m it for him.”

“And this goes back to infancy,” Sam recapped. “Well, fuck. And both your Moms kept quiet about it, never let on that the other of you even existed.”

“They were both grateful we stopped crying for each other. Didn’t realize we were carrying it around with us in other ways. I’ve always been hunting that perfect person, y’know? That person who made me feel complete. Because I never felt whole, Sam. Not once that I can remember. Not until I met Bucky.”

“Y’know, you could be readin’ more into this than you should. You’ve had a crush on Bucky Barnes the actor for years.”

“Bucky Barnes the actor, and Bucky Barnes the man I know are two separate things. Yeah, I thought the actor was hot as fuck. And the day I met him in Clint’s studio? Fuck if I didn’t pop a boner on sight. Talk about embarrassing. But when we worked together, when we were doing the shoot, we moved together like we’d been together our entire lives. I don’t even know how to explain it, our bodies knew how to move around each other. More than just lovers, friends. It was really weird and exciting all at the same time. It was an incredible experience, really. I’ve never had that kind of sync with anyone else, _ever_.”

“I remember you were really up about it. So, okay, let’s assume this thing is real – look, I know you think it is, but you guys have been moving really fuckin’ fast, y’know? People don’t get married ‘cos they were best friends when they were four years old, Steve. People get married because they know and love each other in the now.”

“We know and love each other now, Sam. This is it. And we’re gonna get married. Two weeks from Saturday.”

“Two wee – what the actual fuck, Steve?”

“I don’t have time to waste, Sam. We could do a long engagement, but we don’t have to. And I want Ma … I want Ma to be there, to see it happen. She’s been after me to find someone so she knows I’m gonna be okay when she’s gone. This is the right thing to do.”

“You expect me to organize a bachelor party in just over two weeks?”

“Nah. I just want you to be there, to stand up for me. Bucky’s asking his buddy Tony. Clint’s gonna officiate –“

“Oh, now I know you’re foolin’! _Barton’s_ gonna marry you –“

“He got himself ordained. It’s legit.”

Sam glared at Steve while he shoveled food for a while.

“So when are you gonna tell Sash, hmm? ‘Cos that means you’re gonna have to talk to her. Use your fuckin’ words, Steve.”

“I know. I need a couple more days, then … then I can talk to her. See her. Without gettin’ angry. Just not this minute. I know she didn’t mean anything bad by it, Sam. Still hurts, though. Hurts to know that all these years when I was by myself, I didn’t have to be. There was someone out there who loved me once.”

“Steve, a compromised immune system isn’t anything to ignore. Based on what you told me, hanging out with Bucky coulda killed you.”

“Probably would’ve. Doesn’t change the fact that both of us had a right to know about the other. About our pasts, our connection. Hell, Ma coulda told me about him and we coulda been pen pals. Any idea how cool that woulda been, to have a friend I could write to, someone who’d listen, who’d share with me? I didn’t have anyone, Sam. No one but Ma. But if she’d told me, there woulda been letters, e-mails, Skype calls, gaming – my life woulda been so much different. Buck’s too. But we never got the chance. Didn’t have the choice.”

“I didn’t realize it was so lonely for you, Steve.”

“Why would you? Y’know, once I was cured and was able to be out among people, I made friends. But you were the first one who really stuck.”

“You invitin’ Peggy to your little shindig?” Sam asked quietly, putting down his utensils and dabbing his napkin at the corners of his mouth.

“She’s in England, Sam. She’s not gonna fly across the ocean just to see me get married. ‘Sides, Angie’s got a little brother or sister on the way.”

“Good for her, but pity she won’t be able to be there. I know she’d love to see you happy. Under normal circumstances, I don’t think you could keep her away.”

“Nice thought.”

“True thought. I know you did the whole noble thing, letting her go. I know it was mutual, dude, calm the fuck down,” he amended when Steve started to puff up to argue. “It was more you than it was her, though. She knew how you felt, and she respected it, but Steve, if you hadn’t made that choice, that woman woulda married you in a heartbeat.”

“Maybe. And I woulda loved her the best I could. But it wouldn’t’a been enough. I knew then that there was something missing. That’s why I ended it. I couldn’t keep stringing her along when I knew she wasn’t the right person for me.”

“And Barnes is.”

“110%.”

“Yeah. Okay, then. Best man it is. Guess I kinda owe you anyway, considering you were mine five years ago.”

“I was gonna remind you if you said no.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you didn’t. Hey, wanna split an order of grilled sticky buns?”

“Now you’re talkin’!”

Steve grinned back at Sam, feeling lighter than he had in days. Yeah, this was gonna happen. And he was gonna have his Ma, his friends, and the love of his life there with him when it did.

He could do this.

&&&

“You remember movin’ suddenly when I was about four?”

Bucky was sitting on the guest room bed in his sister’s place in Mt. Kisco, watching her rummage through a closet and toss clothes into a pile on the bed next to him. While Steve was catching up with Sam, Bucky took advantage of a rare day off by his doctor big sister, and took the train up to visit. His other sister Chrissy was in the kitchen getting drinks.

It was unusual for all of them to be free, but Bucky had sent up the sibling emergency signal, asking for a family meeting of just the three of them, so both of his older sisters had made the time to meet up here at Becca’s place, luckily coinciding with Becks’s schedule, and Chrissy took advantage of a furlough day. Both of them had keys to his place, and sometimes they visited when they had a show to go to, or wanted to get away from suburbia, but today he wanted a change of scene as well as their input. Bucky was reasonably close to his older sisters, having been their favorite dress-up doll when he was younger. They still liked to mother him in their own way, and he was grateful to have them in his life.

Becks lobbed a pair of slacks, miscalculated, and Bucky reached out with his prosthetic and caught them before they hit the floor. He set them on the pile, waiting for Becca to answer.

She popped her head out of the closet, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, sure. Ma said we had to go away because the kid across the hall was sick. I hated it, all my friends were in the neighborhood. At least I didn’t have to change schools, though. I got to go to the same middle school. Chrissy had to change elementary schools. She was _not_ happy about that.”

“I don’t remember,” Bucky said softly.

“’Course not. You were only four. But man, did you kick up a fuss. Thought Mom’s heart was gonna break, you cried and screamed so much. Thought you were gonna wear out your vocal chords. Dad did something with the nursery to soundproof it, but, oh God, yeah, you kept breakin’ out. Or he did. So we ended up having to move ‘cos ‘a’you. Y’know, all that? That’s what got me thinkin’ about being a pediatrician. Your sick friend, and how you weren’t allowed to play with him anymore because you could make him sicker.”

“Wait, so me and Steve, that was your inspiration to become a doctor?”

“Well, not just that – wait a minute, the little boy across the hall?”

“Yeah.”

“That was your Steve? Your fuckin’ fiancé? Buck, how’d that happen?”

“Pretty sure we were meant to be together, Becks. Like, cosmically.”

“Whoa, that’s too weird.”

“What’s too weird?” Chrissy asked, coming back into the room with a tray with glasses full of ice and ice tea. Bucky got up and took the tray away from her while she and Becca took their drinks. Bucky sipped at his and set the tray on the dresser.

Becca took a swallow of the tea and then answered Chrissy’s question. “Buck’s fiancé was that little kid across the hall. The one that got so sick we had to move.”

Chrissy gaped. “No way. What are the fuckin’ odds? You were totally heartbroken when he got sick. Mrs. Phipps called the super to complain about the noise from you cryin’ and screamin’ over it. Him, too.”

“Oh yeah. She didn’t like any of us. She was just lookin’ for an excuse to complain about us,” Becca commented, putting her tea down on the dresser, and turning back to the closet.

“Mighta had somethin’ to do with your taste in music, Becks. She was in her Billy Idol phase at the point. No one needs to hear _White Wedding_ that often, Becks. And Mr. O’Malley, he bitched, too. Narc.”

Bucky shook his head, snorting softly through a growing grin. “I don’t remember any of this. Tell me what you remember.”

Chrissy was the first to answer. “Well, you two were the cutest things. Always cuddling, always kissing and hugging. I remember babysitting you both a few times – Ma’s friend paid really well, too. And had the best snacks.”

Becca abandoned the closet again to twirl around to face her siblings. “Pretty sure they were for when she got the munchies. You know she smoked weed, right?”

“I didn’t know what weed was. I was ten. How’d you know what it was?”

Becca shrugged. “Health class.”

“Hmm.”

“You do know that’s Ma’s friend Sash, right?” Bucky interjected before the girls could get too lost on the twists and turns of Memory Lane.

“What, her old hippie buddy?” Becca said incredulously. “Nah, I remember her friend across the hall was a nurse –“

“Sash was a nurse. She’s retired now, but yeah.”

“Huh. I didn’t realize. Heh, a pot-smoking nurse. How very Showtime.”

“Nah, totally HBO. But seriously, all this time, same family? Ma never said,” Chrissy commented, shoving Becca’s pile of clothes on the floor so she could flop down next to Bucky. He glanced over at her and made a face; she just grinned at him.

“Chris!” Becca complained, then kicked at the pile. “You’re gonna pack this shit up. It’s for your school fundraiser anyway.”

“The Mathletes accept your domestic offering with calculated thanks,” Chrissy giggled from where she lay.

“So you didn’t realize that Sash and Steve were the same as the Mom and kid who lived across from us.”

“No, why would we? I mean, Ma’s over there all the time, but I don’t think I’ve seen Sash since we moved. Even if I did, unless Ma said, I wouldn’t put it together. I’m guessing Steve looks different from when he was cute and sweet and, y’know, _four_.”

Bucky pulled out his phone and thumbed through his photos until he found a good one of him and Steve together, taken the other night at _Cuchina Mia_ by Mama.

“Oh, yeah. He definitely doesn’t look four anymore. Wow, Buck. Y’kinda won the lottery on muscles and good looks, there. Sure you can handle all that?” Chrissy said, rolling over so she could snag his phone and study the picture, then flip through some of the others. “You really look happy,” she added softly, fondly.

“I _am_ really happy,” he agreed. “He makes me feel … I dunno. Complete.”

“So, um, what about, you know?” Becks asked, clearing her throat uncomfortably. Because, yeah, his sisters knew about his issues, had been there for him since puberty as he’d stumbled his way through the hormonal minefield that was high school and beyond.

“We’re workin’ it out. We talk, he tells me what he likes, I tell him what I can tolerate, we find a middle ground. It’s really pretty amazing, to be honest. I really did win the lottery, but not just for his muscles. He’s beautiful in every possible way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Oh, hey, keep two weeks from Saturday open.”

“Yeah? Got somethin’ special planned? Like, we get to meet Steve?”

“Yeah, kinda. We’re getting’ married. You’re invited.”

The squawk emanating out of the sudden puppy pile of siblings was neither dignified nor grounds for mercy.

&&&

Gradually, Steve and Bucky were letting their friends know about the impending nuptials. They were planning small, a simple ceremony at the Municipal Building, followed by a catered buffet at Mama’s. Mama, of course, had declared it all good, announced that _Cucina Mia_ would be closed for business that day, and had pulled Steve aside to plan the menu. Bucky had shaken his head and wandered away wondering if they ever got divorced, would Steve end up with custody of the cannoli. Then he decided to put an order in at Virago for that dessert tray experiment for the wedding night. He might not have mad skills in the bedroom, but he was learning how to read his man. 

Neither had broached the subject with their Moms, preferring to leave it to when they were finally able to talk to them face to face.

Clint had been overjoyed to get the officiator gig, and Thor had exclaimed over Steve’s ring designs, and promised to go to work on them immediately, Natasha announced that their engagement party at Asgard’s on Friday night was expanding to include Steve and Bucky’s good news, so they were guaranteed a good time and a good ribbing come then. Bucky texted his sisters to let them know about the festivities, and both agreed they’d be there with their respective significant others in tow.

That left Tony, and by luck, he and Pepper were in town for a quarterly stockholder meeting at Stark International’s New York headquarters. Bucky met up with him on Thursday morning at his office.

Bucky found himself feeling a little jittery, a little nervous going into that conversation. There was more than just a wedding for them to discuss, after all.

So of course, Bucky led by asking Tony to be his best man. 

“Only if I get to throw the wedding,” Tony had replied, settling back into his official not-the-CEO-anymore leather seat, swirling the cut glass tumbler of aged scotch insouciantly.

“Already taken care of. We’re going small, civil. Municipal Building. Then Mama at Cucina Mia is catering. If I don’t let her, she’ll have my balls. So will Steve – he’s in love with her cooking.”

“Pish. And posh. You take all the fun out of things. But what's the hurry - you pregnant, Barnes?”

Bucky lifted his own tumbler of scotch and saluted Tony for a second before downing it, savoring the smoky flavor gliding over his tongue, and the burn that followed all the way down. “Right. No. Steve's Ma.”

Tony’s expression grew more sober as he arched an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction. “Clinical trial is looking good. The data is solid.”

“We can't rely on that. This is cancer we're talking. Stage four. It could go south at any time. Steve wants his Ma to see him get married.”

“This is real? Not for the press anymore, huh? I told you I saw something in you two.”

“Yeah, y’did. You were more right than you could ever know.” And now seemed like a good time to clue Tony in on the whole tangled mess that was the Saga of Steve and Bucky. It was mildly amusing to watch Tony’s eyes get progressively bigger as he spoke, his chin dropping further toward his throat as his mouth fell more and more open.

“Wow. That would make a helluva movie, but the critics would complain it was too far-fetched.”

“Hmm. Welcome to my life.”

“You gonna be okay? Steve? That’s a helluva bombshell to deal with.”

“We’re gettin’ there. Makin’ plans for the future … that helps. Can’t change the past. But we can make our own decisions going forward.”

“And now I get why you don’t want me planning your wedding. Check. But … Shotgun wedding to make a dying mother proud. Press is gonna eat it up.”

“Can we keep it quiet?”

“Do we really want to?”

“Tony …”

“No, really. You hate press tour. That's how you got into this, remember? So we let the press know you're getting married to fulfill her wishes, please respect our privacy in this challenging time. We cancel press tour –“

“Tony, I'm not asking –“

“I'm offering. Consider it a wedding gift. Instead of hitting individual countries, we do a global simulcast. Beam it around the globe. We pipe you in holographically – hell we could even do the meet and greet that way.”

“The technology exists for that?”

“It will by the time we need it. Now we're getting into the fun stuff! Thanks, Barnes. I knew someday you’d find a way to make making movies the good stuff.”

“Glad you're enjoying yourself. Something else I need to discuss. I don't want to do films anymore. Unless they're shooting in New York.”

“What're you gonna do with yourself?”

“Theatre.”

“I own one of those. Maybe more. I have to check.”

“I figured.”

“I could design your sets, make them really state of the art.”

“First thing is a script. Need a play.”

“We'll let Pepper pick.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? No argument about artistic integrity, all that horseshit?”

“Yeah, okay. If Pepper's picking, I'm good. She's got good taste.”

“Well, yeah. She picked me.”

“Besides that.”

“So. This is the real thing, huh?”

“Feels like it.”

“I’m glad. Studio folks’ll miss you – don’t be surprised if they pitch a script centered in New York. They really love you. No accounting, I guess. But I’m sure they won’t complain if I’m not up their noses anymore.”

“Y’gonna give up being a movie mogul?”

“Not so much fun without you, I don’t think. I’ll just let them get back to what they’re good at. But theatre … wow. That could be seriously fun.”

“No pyrotechnics. No overproducing. Something simple, just people. Authentic. Hey, maybe something in the round. Small. I’d be willing to work with new people. It could be fun to discover someone, y’know? New talent?”

“What, like your boyfriend and his Soho show? Yeah, Hap said. Got a gallery space that would be perfect, I think. And Pepper definitely wants in on that. She took a look at your boy’s portfolio online, and she really wants in. He’s talented, not just a pretty face. I already offered him a show, and he didn’t believe me. Pepper’ll convince him.”

”Bringing out the big guns.”

“Don’t you know it. He’s good for you.”

“Yeah, he is.” The expression that Tony allowed to flit across his face – for just a moment – was fond, soft, maybe even a little proud. Bucky nodded minutely. He was grateful to Tony for so much, but suggesting he fake-date Steve had to be the best idea Tony had ever had, save for falling in love with Pepper. And yep, it was gone, replaced by Tony’s signature smirk. The world tilted back on its axis.

“Speaking of good for you, Pierce is a non-starter. Called his bluff, he’s got nothin’. He was looking for a plea bargain, maybe even dropping of charges. Like I can affect the DA’s office. Rumlow’s distancing himself, even offered to turn state’s evidence. Looking to refurbish his image after pissing all over America’s gay sweethearts.”

“Gonna let ‘im?”

“Hell, no. He doesn’t deserve it. Guy’s scum. But let ‘im think he’ll get what he wants, help put Pierce away. In the meantime, the wedding, the back story, it all feeds to making you both look great. And we can build on that. I’m thinkin’ Ellen. Or Fallon.”

“Corden. He’s irreverent.”

“He’s also LA-based, although you could totally rock Carpool Karaoke. Fallon’s the best choice, maybe get some beer pong in – maybe a lipsynch battle if you’re lucky. Local, he can be sympathetic at the same time he’s funny. I’ll get you booked next week, huh? Get this out there, and we can do damage control on switching up the press tour. Everybody else will do the live stuff, and we’ll beam you in holographically to the live events. It’ll be awesome. People won’t even notice you’re not really there, the tech’ll be so cool.”

&&&

Fred closed the door softly after saying goodbye to Natasha, turned, and rested with her back against the door.

It was Friday, and still no word from the boys. Oh, their friends were checking in on her and Sash every day, sometimes multiple visits in a day. Neither of them wanted for anything. Except their sons. And neither she nor Sash had seen or heard a peep from either one of them since they’d walked out of Sash’s house on Monday night.

Becca and Chrissy had been tight-lipped about their brother, which told her more eloquently than words that Bucky had spoken to them. But they weren’t giving up their baby brother to their mother, not in this situation.

She was glad the truth was out at last. She felt terrible for keeping it from Jamie – from _Bucky_ – for so long. And the look in Steve’s eyes when he realized that the person he’d trusted most in the world – his entire world, really – had withheld the truth from him his entire life … God, Fred was having trouble keeping the nausea at bay.

It was all too fucked up. And there was nothing they could do at this point but hope the boys got over it while there was still time. And spend the rest of their lives making it up to them.

Sash had chewed her nails to the point half her fingers were bleeding, and still she gnawed at the cuticles. Fred was going to have to put her in gloves before long so she didn’t get herself infected. With the cancer cocktail she was on, that was a very real danger, and an infection while her immune system was suppressed as it was could be dangerous.

And Fred was worried about her nutrition as well. Keeping up her strength while undergoing chemotherapy was key, and an important factor in that was nutrition. Fortunately, each of Steve’s friends who came to visit seem to understand that, and nearly everyone showed up with food. Even Happy had stopped by to check in on Sash, and he’d brought steak sandwiches and grinders, and insisted on having a feast right then and there. Not even Sash could get away with not eating when Happy Hogan turned his disapproving puppy eyes on her.

She had no idea how she’d ever be able to thank Happy, or Mr. Stark, but she was already planning a marathon baking session to produce cookies no man could refuse.

And there was no time like the present. She had no doubt Happy would be back – he’d already stopped by two days this week, even though Sash was done with doctor visits after the infusion on Monday morning. She was determined that he would not walk through that door again without being greeted by the scent of fresh baked goods.

&&&

The party was already in full swing by the time Steve and Bucky arrived. They’d tried, with no success, to get Happy to join them at the party, but Happy had been steadfast in his refusal to fraternize. Instead, he sat stonily in the limo parked outside Asgard’s, glaring at anyone who dared get within touching distance of the limo.

Tony and Pepper had been all too happy to accept the invitation, and Pepper was already deftly steering Tony away from a shots contest being organized by Clint Barton, cheerfully egged on by the massive Scandanavian bartender who looked more at home in a throne room than a pub.

When he spied Steve and Bucky, he threw up his hands and bellowed a greeting, insisting they come close so he could regale them with something. Bucky shook his head fondly, and followed in Steve’s wake, and was surprised to find himself being introduced to a person with the actual name of Thor. “Loki is in the office – he’ll be out presently and will want to hear all about your wedding plans, Steven. In the meantime, let me show you some photos of your works in progress,” he offered, whipping out his phone and queueing up shots of lumps of silver, that were then beaten into ringlike shapes, and finally being tooled into the intricate patterns of Steve’s wedding ring designs.

“Wait, you’re Thor the artist?”

“Yes, I must admit to that. I am a silversmith by training, a bar keep by choice. But I am happy to have this training so that I may make the bands that will bind you for all eternity, Bucky, love of Steve. It is an honor to work with such beautiful designs, and even more so knowing the role they will play in your lives together. Another?” he asked, nodding toward Bucky’s glass that had mysteriously emptied itself while Bucky had listened, rapt, to Thor’s peculiar but compelling cadence.

“Um, yeah, okay,” Bucky agreed, handing the glass over to Thor, who beamed at him like he’d just given him the greatest gift ever. Bucky had to admit that that Steve had some strange but wonderful friends. He was looking forward to getting to know them, and that surprised him. He was a personable guy, always had been. But he tended toward introversion. But with Steve’s friends – many of whom he knew either directly or through mutual friends – all seemed like the kind of people who fed energy rather than drained it. Not surprising, knowing the kind of guy that Steve was.

Bucky had really hit the jackpot there. And when Steve turned and looked at him, his eyes full of joy and love, Bucky knew Steve felt the same way. He grinned at him, sliding his hand across the bar to tangle his fingers with Steve’s. He was just about to lean across and kiss him when he felt a sharp thwack! to the skull. Steve’s hand shot up to his mouth to cover up the bark of laughter that erupted out of him.

“Only one person smacks me like that. Hello, Natasha,” Bucky announced, rubbing at his head with his flesh hand. Yep, definitely gonna have a lump.

“Your mother misses you,” she announced unceremoniously, hitching herself up on the barstool next to him. “You, too, Steve.”

Steve made a sour face and shook his head. “I miss her, too. Kinda. Yeah, definitely. Just not ready yet, Nat. How was she today?”

“Looks like crap. Barely eating unless you guilt her into it. Fred’s doing all she can. The gang’s been doing shifts, bringing over food. Your buddy’s driver gets the best results,” she concluded, nodding toward where Tony and Pepper stood talking to Becca and Chrissy.

“Thanks for that. I’ll happily reimburse everybody –“

“Bullshit. No one wants your money, Steve. We’re all happy to help. Not just Sash, but you, too. You give all the time – ‘bout time you let us have a chance to give back. Just … don’t leave it too long, huh?”

“Sunday,” Bucky said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“We’re planning to see them on Sunday – don’t tell. It’s a surprise. We both kinda have to work ourselves up to it, y’know?”

“Afraid of your own Mom, Barnes? C’mon, that’s nuts and you know it.”

“More like afraid I’ll say the wrong thing and make it worse.”

“Yeah, okay, I get that. So how’re you guys doing otherwise?” she asked, and the delicate arch of her eyebrow indicated she was asking about more than just their Mom woes. 

Bucky grinned at her. “We are doing great. Aren’t we, baby?” he asked, reaching for Steve’s hand, and bringing the knuckles up to his lips to brush a kiss.

Steve smiled sappily at him and nodded, his eyes darkening at the use of “baby.” “As crazy as it sounds, even with everything goin’ on with Ma, I’ve never been happier. Like, ever.”

The smile that broke across Natasha’s face at that moment was breathtaking, worth all the shit she’d been doling out to Bucky since middle school.

“I worried I’d never see you nerds happy. It never occurred to me that you might be happy together, but I’m really … I’m really happy for you,” she told them, tearing up. Then she swatted Bucky in the chest, and that really stung! “I can’t believe you’re gonna beat me to the altar, Barnes! I’ve been working on Clint since we were tweens, and you’re gonna get married first!”

“That’s ‘cos my head is not jammed firmly up my shapely ass,” Bucky replied, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, rubbing at his chest where her hand had definitely left a mark.

She huffed a laugh and added, “I _was_ considering a crowbar if he didn’t propose soon. Of course, I guess I could have proposed myself, but I really, really wanted him to do it. And the ring … oh God, it’s perfect.”

“He worked hard on that, Nat. He may seem slow sometimes, but he’s been working on perfect for a long time now.”

“I know. And I know it’s not always gonna be perfect, but he definitely gets points for trying,” she told them, smiling.

“Tell him that,” Bucky said, nuzzling her hair. Then he reached out and slung his other arm around Steve’s neck, hauling him in so the three of them had a private little bubble around them. “If I’ve learned anything from what’s happened, it’s don’t let the opportunities pass you by. Speak. Let him know he did good.”

Nat looked at him silently for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah,” she breathed. “You’re right. How else am I gonna train ‘im if I don’t reward good behavior?” she asked cheekily, then kissed him on the cheek. To Steve, she ordered, “This is one of the good ones. Make sure you keep him.”

“Never lettin’ go, Nat. Promise.”

She popped up on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Steve’s cheek, too, resting her hand on Bucky’s shoulder to balance herself as she did. “I’m so happy you two found each other,” she told them both, her smile wide and warm. “Now I’m gonna go find that man of mine and kiss him senseless.”

&&&

The party ran late, and despite his protests to the contrary, Happy was grateful for the periodic visits and deliveries of food and drink. At one point, Thor even went out to the car and sat with him a while when he delivered a thermos of strong, hot coffee.

Finally, well past the normal closing time for the bar, folks started drifting out, caroling good wishes to Nat and Clint, and Steve and Bucky. Becca and Chrissy fawned all over Steve, promising that if the marriage didn’t work out, they planned to keep him as the better half of the deal. After extracting a promise from both Steve and Bucky that they were going to face their Mas on Sunday, Buck’s sisters left, too.

By the end, it was just the normal gang, plus Tony and Pepper, and finally it was time for them to leave as well. Since Steve and Bucky had come with Tony and Pepper, they left with them as well. In the car back to Bucky’s place, Pepper brought up the gallery show, and Bucky settled into the comfortable upholstery, smiling to himself as the man he loved was regaled with praise from one of the women he respected most. Occasionally, Steve would glance over like he couldn’t believe this was happening to him, but Bucky knew that it was, not because he was marrying Bucky, but because Steve was genuinely talented. The only thing Bucky had done was make it possible for Tony and Pepper to discover him.

Tony scooched over to sit by Bucky, nudging him in the ribs. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet there, Barnes. What gives?”

“Just enjoying. I’m happy to see Steve have a moment. I want to see him have lots of moments. I just … it’s nice, y’know? Seeing how Pepper appreciates him. Thanks, by the way. I owe a lot of my happiness to you.”

“Yeah, y’do. But I’ve made out pretty well in our relationship, too. And we’re not done yet. Got some ideas for Steve’s show that might be fun – nothing gaudy, nothing too over the top. But maybe some fun interactive stuff. Ah, the things you can do with holograms! We’re gonna have fun. All four of us. Might have to make New York my permanent base again, put the California lifestyle behind me. Not giving up my Happy, though. So, whadya say?”

“To … ?”

“Partners in a production company, of course!”

“Oh, of course. Um, yes?”

&&&

Steve was wired for sound by the time they got back to Bucky’s place. The gallery plans with Pepper were already well advanced, although she recognized that getting married would take precedence over preparing any new works for the show. But she’d extracted a promise from Steve to let her look through his studio space – in his Ma’s house – to pick out pieces she’d like to have in the show. And potentially to buy for the Stark Foundation Collection.

They were in the bathroom, going through their nightly dance of preparation and pampering, when Bucky stepped up behind Steve with his hands on Steve’s hips and his chest pressed against Steve’s back. He dipped his head to place a kiss on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve stilled. Simply … halted, holding his breath.

“I’m so proud of you,” Bucky whispered against Steve’s skin, pressing another kiss a few inches from the first. “I can’t wait for everyone to have a chance to see you as I do.”

“Hot and sexy?” Steve asked hopefully, pressing back against Bucky and arching his neck to expose more skin to Bucky’s lips.

“Intensely creative and amazingly talented,” Bucky corrected, placing another kiss along the shoulder.

“Y’know, I looked for you.”

“Hmm?” Bucky hummed against Steve’s neck.

“When I got to school, I looked for you. Finally I asked if anyone knew a Bucky, and they pointed at you. You looked familiar, but I didn’t understand why at the time. I thought maybe I’d dreamed you. I thought maybe you were my guardian angel, the angel Ma had told me never existed. But when I saw you, I knew you’d never be interested in a sickly shrimp like me. But I swear, Buck, the moment I saw you? Love at first sight.”

“Hmm,” Bucky agreed, mouthing his way up the column of Steve’s neck, nuzzling at his hair and behind his ear. “Me, too. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but yeah. The moment I saw you? I was in love with you. Couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, but I fell in love that day. Been carrying that torch 15 years.” His flesh hand skimmed up Steve’s chest, pausing to rub his thumb over each nipple, before coming to rest gently in the curve of his collarbone. “And now you’re here.”

“I wanted to believe that you were the Bucky of my dreams, my imaginary friend made flesh, but I just couldn’t believe you’d want me the way I remembered being cherished by my imaginary friend. Geeze, Buck – I couldn’t’a been more wrong.” And with that, Steve turned in Bucky’s arms, their lips coming together to form a more perfect union.

&&&

Sunday afternoon in Brooklyn.

They stood nervously side by side on the front porch of the Rogers’s house, staring at the closed door with something not quite fear. Neither one of them was willing to be the first to knock, to ring, or to use a key. So they stood staring, hands clasped together tightly, plastic bags of catered food gathered at their feet.

Finally, Bucky snorted a laugh, and grumbled, “You’d think we’d broke curfew or somethin’. This is our Moms.”

“Our Moms who lied to us for 30 years,” Steve pointed out in a reasonable tone, not at all aggrieved.

“Our Moms who we already decided deserve a second chance, right?” Bucky countered, and turned toward Steve, ducking his head and looking up at Steve through his lashes. “We do this together. If you’re not ready, I’m not going to talk to my Mom either.” He reached out and cupped Steve’s elbow in his prosthetic hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze while his flesh hand cupped Steve’s cheek and his thumb stroked gently along the crease of his smile. “We got this, baby.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips parting slightly. “What you do to me, Bucky Barnes,” he breathed. “Just callin’ me ‘baby’ and I’m imaginin’ all I wanna do to you.”

“Might wanna put that on hold. I sure as fuck don’t wanna have to explain your boner to my Ma.”

Steve whimpered a little but nodded. “Mine, either. I dunno if she’d understand … us, I mean. Not that I’m complainin’, I’m not. Just … it ain’t none of her business, y’know? Shit, I can’t believe I just said that. Ma’s critiqued just about everyone I’ve ever fucked. But you … you’re _mine_.”

Bucky smiled at that, leaned in and brushed his lips against Steve’s. “You’re mine, too. Ain’t givin’ you up for nothin’,” he said, smiling into the kiss. Steve’s fingers curled into the neckline of Bucky’s cotton sweater, pulling him close. Bucky could feel the urgency in Steve’s kiss, the nerves. He slid both hands to curve around Steve’s shoulders, squeezing gently, supportively. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. _We got this_.”

“Nuh-uh,” Steve countered, tilting his face to attack Bucky’s lips from another angle.

“Baby, it’s now or never,” Bucky reminded, taking a step back to look him in the eyes. Steve’s expression was mulish, combative. “We agreed. This is something we have to do, for _us_. Nobody else, just for us. Right?”

Steve nodded sullenly, started to step toward Bucky again to initiate another kiss, but Bucky let his hand slide away from Steve’s shoulders, to his shirt, where he straightened Steve's collar and patted it down even as he held him in check.

“Ready?”

“No.”

“Think you're exaggerating.”

“Let's go back to your place and fuck.”

“You know I don't do that.”

“Let's go back to your place and aggressively cuddle.”

“Warmer.  And definitely later. But still not turning back.”

“Fine. But you're holding my hand and playing footsie with me under the table.”

“So long as you let me kiss your knuckles, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Let's go. Time to put the past to rest. We got a future to plan for.” Bucky took Steve’s hand in his, and held it up to the doorbell. He turned and smiled at Steve. “You with me?”

Steve stared into Bucky's eyes and smiled. “Yeah, Buck. I’m with you. Til the ... “

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... let me know what you think. 
> 
> I'm going to spend some time on my other stories, especially Threads, Ohana, It Takes a Village, and On the Air. But I definitely want to come back to explore more of the story with these guys. I've already created a series placeholder, so subscribe or bookmark it so you're notified when a new story is posted.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's travelled with me as I've walked the labyrinth with these boys. Your comments, your critiques, your presence here with me has meant so much. You have no idea how much you give me with your continued support.


	18. Alternate Timeline Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of people commented on choices made during the writing process. This story went way off the reservation based on what I had planned. I mean, like nothing like I'd planned. Here are some notes left over from my original concept - as you can see, very different from what the story ended up being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The point at which I ended the story may have seemed arbitrary - and I was under the gun to finish the story by the 15th so I didn't lose my place in the Big Bang. But when the scene suggested itself to me, I just felt like that's the perfect place to end, on a moment full of promise. I'd already done the big drama with the Mas, and the boys had been torturing themselves over the past. The moment of healing for them, really, is the moment they can look to the future, and that last moment on the porch was exactly that - the moment when they can let go of the past, and look forward.

**From the chapter where Steve and Bucky agree to be fake boyfriends, and Bucky meets the family.  By this time, the concept was already morphing.  I think the story really started to change in the first chapter, as the relationship between Clint and Bucky started to come together, but really started to change when Steve stepped in and started referring to his Ma - a decidedly hipper Mom than I'd originally planned for.**

Sam and Clint are dubious, Sarah and Fred are thrilled.  Sarah hugs Bucky and shares an oddly happy and triumphant over his shoulder with Fred.  Then Sarah insists that Steve is going to want to stay at Bucky’s place in Manhattan, so he should go pack an overnight bag.  Steve is really confused, but ends up going for it when Fred tells him she’ll stay over with Sarah while Steve and Bucky go on a date –dinner at a nice restaurant where it’s likely they’ll be seen.  And Steve stays over, but insists on sleeping in the guest room.  Bucky lets him.

**Originally, the press tour was going to happen, and that's when Steve and Bucky were going to get to know each other, figuring out the logistics on the road.  Then I realized with Steve's counterproposal - which wasn't in my original conception of the story - they really needed to spend time together before the tour started, and the story ended up going in a completely new direction as a result.  They never got to the press tour, where in the original concept, they were going to tour cities all over the world.  
**

On the tour, Bucky and Steve share a bed, because they can’t afford the hotel staff to notice they’re not sharing a bed.

**In the original concept, Steve was going to be really pissy about going home, and leaving Bucky behind.  Like, he didn't want Bucky to come with him because he thought it was a publicity stunt, where Bucky felt that a) it was something that a boyfriend should do, and b) it was something that a friend would do, and he wanted to be Steve's friend.  In fact, the plan had been for Steve to storm out and fly home, and for Bucky to follow.**

When Sarah has a setback, Steve insists on flying home, and Bucky puts the press tour on hold, much to the consternation of the tour organizers.  He gets Tony to smoothe it over, and the press eats up the fact that Bucky is walking away from his own press tour to be with his boyfriend and his Mom in their hour of need.

**I'd actually envisioned that Steve and Bucky would find out that they had been friends as babies while Sarah was in her sickbed, literally death bed confession.  The Sarah that was going to be in the original story was nothing like Sash.  She was far more conventional than Sash was on her most boring day ever.**

Back in Brooklyn, Bucky finally finds out that Steve is the beautiful angry spitire he fell in love with in high school – he finally sees a photo of Steve at 18, before Germany and the procedures.

Sarah admits further that Bucky and Steve knew each other as toddlers.  They loved to touch and kiss each other, and would sleep wound all around each other.  Steve didn’t go to daycare because he was already fragile, but Bucky did.  And at four-five years old, Bucky brought home a childhood disease that he inadvertently gave to Steve when they were cuddling and kissing each other, and the disease nearly killed Steve, putting him in the hospital for weeks.  Worse, the illness seemed to trigger all his immune deficiencies, and he was diagnosed with multiple conditions.  Present day Bucky is horrified that he is the one who made Steve sick, but Sarah assures him that’s not the case.  But ultimately, Sarah and Winifred decided that the best thing for Steve was to keep him and Bucky apart.  Both boys were hysterical at not being allowed to see each other, but gradually, each started to forget.  Steve decided he’d had an imaginary friend named Bucky.  Bucky made other friends, but always felt like there was something missing, something broken about him.

When Steve went to high school for that one month, even as Bucky fell in love with him from afar, Steve tracked down the boy named Bucky, and realized his childhood friend wasn’t imaginary after all.  But he never had a chance to talk to Bucky, because the call from Erskine came.

**I had a scene in mind where Sarah talked directly to Bucky and Bucky alone, telling him to take care of Steve, and that she could see that what they felt for each other was real - just as the boys are seriously faking it.**

When Sarah starts to get stronger because the drugs are starting to work together, she pushes Steve to go back to the press tour with Bucky, and she’ll watch them on the internet.  He’s reluctant to go, but finally he agrees.  He and Bucky fly back to Asia to continue the press tour, only this time Bucky is armed with the knowledge that he and Steve have been special to each other all their lives.  He’d determined to woo Steve Rogers, to take the “fake” out of their title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there will be more. I loved writing this story. It's so weird, my entire writing career, I've been known for writing action adventure, with not so much in the feels. Since discovering this couple, I've seen so many people comment about the feels I inspire. I'm plumbing greater depths of my own psyche as I write these guys, and I'm spurred on by the support and commentary of my readers. You challenge me to do better, to be more authentic and real. And it's a gift, this challenge and this fandom, because it puts me in closer contact with who I am as a person than I have ever been.
> 
> Thank you for all you do for me. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Please share on Tumblr or other social media where you live, and remember I love comments!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART for: Architecture](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7196357) by [cassandrasfisher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandrasfisher/pseuds/cassandrasfisher)
  * [ART for: Architecture Part II](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7597819) by [cassandrasfisher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandrasfisher/pseuds/cassandrasfisher)
  * [Cover Art for ARCHITECTURE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847593) by [aireagoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireagoir/pseuds/aireagoir)




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